I'll Worry About It Later
by WickedFan97
Summary: Second Task AU. What if Hermione - panicking and concerned - jumped back into the Black Lake when Harry failed to surface? This leads to her assistance in a rescue, and her presence suddenly on the radar of Fleur. Eventual Fleur/Hermione
1. Chapter 1

Fandom: Harry Potter

_Pairing(s): _Eventual Fleur/Hermione. Slight Gabrielle/Hermione friendship.

_Author's Notes_: This is my first Harry Potter fic. And I have obviously decided to start out with femslash. I will try not to do the usual plotlines or the overdone tendencies that I have tended to see in this fandom; this pairing in particular. And I'm not completely fluent in French but I will try my best in certain aspects. So just let me know if I need to be corrected. And remember, Hermione is actually fifteen in the Goblet Of Fire. She is a year older than Harry and Ron and she just had to start the same year as them because her birthday falls after September 1st, when Hogwarts starts. That's what J.K. Rowling said, anyway. So there really is only a two year gap between the witches.

_Sypnosis_: What if Hermione - slightly panicked and more than a little concerned - jumped into the Black Lake after Harry and Ron failed to break the surface? This leads to her assistance in a rescue, a new friendship, and her presence suddenly on the radar of the beautiful French competitor of Beauxbatons.

Continuation based on amount of feedback.

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_Chapter One: The Second Task(Always Have Your Back)/Beginnings_

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_The Black Lake: 11:15 AM_

This feeling in her chest - which consisted of a little fear and exasperation rolled into one - had become a very familiar feeling over the years.

Because having friends like Harry Potter and Ron Weasley did that; it was emotionally exhausting to many degrees.

But all Hermione Granger could really do was bite her lip and watch the events unfold in rapt attention. She had all but tuned out to the deafening roar of the stadium; their jeers and shouts just faded into the background as she focused soley on the surface of the Black Lake. To say she was worried would be a monumental understatement. Because when Cho and Cedric had burst through the surface - to the absolutely raucious applause of the Hogwart's students - and swam their way haggardly onto the platform, it wasn't really suprising to her when she had regained consciousness and had seen them after she had broken through the surface herself.

She admitted to feeling a little disappointed that Harry hadn't come up first.

But she was reluctant to admit that at least Viktor had done reasonably well and had gotten her relatively early. Because as much as she admired Viktor Krum, she also kept her strong friendship with Harry into perspective. So as much as she was rooting for Viktor to do well in this tournament, her loyalty would forever rest with Harry.

Which was why she was a little disappointed; she had a towel wrapped tightly around herself - as well as Viktor's arm - and all of the champions and their hostages were safe and out of the water...except for Harry and Ron. A part of her briefly set aside her anxiety and exasperation, because a small part of her knew that they would turn out ok.

Which was why she briefly snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Don' worry, Granger," muttered Seamus, his Irish lilt thick and his voice optimistic. "Thos' two ain' ever _not _made it out_."_

A small part of her had unwillingly relaxed even more after Seamus's reassurance.

But it wasn't until the Beauxbaton's champion, Fleur Delacour - who was standing in all of her proud, albeit injured glory - had begun to genuinely panic, which in turn set loose Hermione's frayed nerves and made them justle and tingle with absolute endangerment. She watched as Fleur's piercing blue eyes roved passionately over the lake in a desperate motion to find her hostage, who was obviously very important to the blonde witch. And while a part of Hermione genuinely detested Fleur and her appeared shallowness that rivaled a puddle, she felt sympathy rise up for the panicky French girl.

"Ou est Gabrielle? _OU EST GABRIELLE?" _Fleur's voice was still mesmerizing, but it was covered in pure unadulterated panic.

Madame Maxime was obviously trying to calm her champion down; touching Fleur's shoulder and speaking to her in rapid French that carried on firmly. Fleur's blue eyes were still piercing and pained - and Hermione thought she saw the briefest sheen of tears, perhaps - as her shoulders straightened and she attempted to regain her confidence and pride. Maxime looked slightly proud.

"Restez calme, enfant," murmured Maxime, her gentle voice betraying her rather large stature.

Fleur closed her eyes for the briefest second, her jaw clenched and her fist slightly shaking, before opening back them back up. The panic that had previously dominated her face had disappeared; her shoulders were now straight and she had suddenly regained that pure confidence - and admittedly, sensuality - that she had always exuded before.

Hermione hated it, but she admired it.

Because she was nowhere near the confidence the Fleur suddenly radiated - however false it might be - where it concerned the situation. Because while she knew that Dumbledore would never purposely let anyone get hurt under his watch, she also knew that she and her friends - mostly Harry - had little to no luck pertaining to that. And she knew Harry was beyond noble in these types of situations; she already knew that he had contemplated saving all of the hostages at the bottom. And while she admired her friend's rarely found nobility and bravery, there were times that she absolutely detested it.

Which was around right about now; she just kept glancing at her watch and biting her lip.

Her chest felt tight, like there was some leftover water that she had somehow inhaled. And if felt like she herself was still in that Black Lake; beginning to drown and struggling to swim herself up to the surface.

And that was when she just _knew._

There was something wrong; she had learned to trust her gut instincts over the last four years. Except for that little incident with distracting Professor Lupin after he had turned into a werewolf; now _that _little mistake had not been necessarily well thought out.

And neither was this one, apparently.

Because she had flung off the blanket that surrounded her shoulders - as well as Viktor's arm - and was quick to draw her wand. Her ears were pounding with the blood rushing to her head and the pure adrenaline beginning to fasten into her system. Because as much as Hermione Granger hated bending the rules, this was an exception. Because whenever Harry or Ron was concerned, she was always pretty quick on letting a few things slide by. Not homework, definitely not that; it was more the sneaking out after dark and the life-threatening missions that she let slide.

Ron had always said that she needed to sort out her priorities; she would never admit that she necessarily agreed with him at times.

She ignored the burn of Viktor's questioning eyes and her eyes discreetly looked for a type of accomplice. Because she needed an advanced student to be able to cast the Bubblehead Charm on her. Viktor was out of the question, because she knew that he would refuse and be blinded by his affections for her.

She huffed in an irritated breath and she impatiently scuffled her feet.

But then it came to her; it hit her suprisingly hard and she couldn't quite lose the excited grin that suddenly erupted on her features. She solely blamed the adrenaline.

Her eyes trained on Cedric Diggory, she pursued slightly to her left in a hopefully innocent approach. She knew that out of just about everyone at Hogwarts - bar Harry - and the teaching staff included, that Cedric was probably one of the nicest guys to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts. He seemed to genuinely care for his friends and she knew that he harbored a soft fondness for Harry himself; she was planning to put that to good use, because there was no way that he _hadn't _heard of her and Harry's closeness.

"Herm-Own-Ninny," muttered Viktor, his voice questioning, if not slightly hurt.

"I'm just going to check and see if Cedric is alright," she murmured, trying to keep her voice low and her expression innocent.

Viktor's brows furrowed and he seemed to pull back as if he was slighly confused. She swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and she released a shaky breath as she gave him a soft smile of reassurance. He frowned a little more, before reluctantly nodding his head and letting loose of his grasp on her elbow. She refrained from a smile of triumph.

She walked towards Cedric slowly, trying to give everyone the impression that she was just checking to make sure of his health. And while that was a conundrum in itself, seeing as they were never really friends, she would like to think that it was still reasonable that she was checking up on a fellow Hogwart's teammate.

Cedric's grey eyes looked imploringly at her as she kneeled down beside him.

"You're Hermione Granger, right?"

She cleared her throat and nodded nervously at his question; she also realized the sudden weight and true implications of what she was doing. Cho Chang was by his side loyally, clutching his hand and looking at Hermione with a slightly curious look. Hermione attempted her best at a smile at the two, and they seemed to relax when they realized she was reasonably nervous. Cedric's grey eyes softened and he hastened to give her a reassuring look. Hermione released a breath when his large hand came up and gently patted her shoulder.

"He'll be alright, you know," whispered Cedric, voice confident as ever.

Cho nodded. "He is a good wizard; don't worry yourself too much."

Hermione nervously cleared her throat. "Er...um, Cedric, w-would you mind if I had a word with you, alone?"

Cedric's brow dropped in confusion and he seemed to look quickly at Cho to stake out her initial reaction. She was gazing at Hermione with a scrutinizing look; her pretty features roving over Hermione in what seemed to be a search for any threats. She didn't seem to find any, because she reluctantly nodded at Hermione and she gently released Cedric's hand. She just kissed his cheek swiftly and stood up, leaving one final look of warning over her shoulder as she walked over to a couple of her friends not too far away.

Hermione nervously interlocked her fingers; her nervousness was growing because the clock had rang with the hour limit.

Cedric just gazed at her. "Erm...you wanted to..."

"I need your help," whispered Hermione, her voice pleading. Time was running out too fast for simple pleasantries.

"W-what with?"

"I need you to do the Bubblehead Charm for me, Cedric," muttered Hermione, her cheeks going slightly pink with embarrassment; as well as anger at herself for not knowing how.

Cedric's eyes widened slightly, and he seemed to glance quickly out at the Black Lake; he was scourging the depths relentlessly with his eyes. She knew that Cedric was smart and that he instantly seemed to catch on as to what she wanted to do. She watched nervously - if not somewhat amusedly - as he silently begged Harry to suddenly appear out of the Black Lake; he was obviously very reluctant in helping so she hesitantly reached out and grasped his arm in helplessness; she was pleading with him, and he seemed to know it with the quick breaths he took.

"Please, Cedric," she whispered.

His jaw clenched in worry as the announcement that the official task had ended; Harry still had not emerged. The sudden worrisome murmurs of the crowd drifted into Hermione's ears, and the feeling of drowning only intensified as the calm surface of the Black Lake continued to be unbreached.

He seemed to release a sigh; for if it was regret or defeat, she did not know. But she couldn't help the sudden tears that sprung to her eyes when she noticed him discreetly pull his wand out of its brown holster. He gave her a soft nod and beckoned her forward, quickly looking around beforehand to make sure that no one one was paying attention. She didn't even hear the incantation being said and she couldn't even remember the tingling that had erupted around her face; all she could think about was the pounding blood in her veins and Harry and Ron.

"Thank you," whispered Hermione, her voice echoing the graciousness she felt.

"You better hurry, Hermione. Go while they're not paying attention," he whispered hurriedly. "And tell Potter not to be so bloody noble next time, yeah?"

Hermione nodded and held back a soft breath of laughter. She squeezed his arm and stood up slowly; she slowly trudged her way to the front of the platform. She had to dodge several students and their wandering elbows. And she barely noticed the soft bubble that had incased her mouth and nose; it was glowing a brilliant pink, and the scent was actually quite pleasant.

She quickly glanced over to see the judges - and teachers - over to the far left side of the platform, whispering and gesturing urgently. She made sure to hunch over and rest her weight on her thighs and calves; her eyes were searching the Black Lake one final time before she made the commitment of saving her friend. She briefly fluttered her eyes closed as she took an even breath, but all of her hesitation evaporated once she heard the chime of the clock go off, signalling yet another minute had passed.

She glanced toward the adults one final time.

And before she jumped, she noticed Fleur's piercing blue eyes encompass her entire form; the French girl's eyes had widened and her perfectly shaped mouth opened in slight horror and realization.

_"MISS GRANGER!"_ That was the last sentiment she heard before she was encompassed by freezing cold water.

She hesitantly opened her eyes; she was quite horrified to find that even her eyelids felt frozen shut at the freezing temperatures. Unlike before, she could now seeing how truly murky the Black Lake was; way down below was the remnants of appeared to be a wrecked ship. And at a much further distance in front of her she noticed to overwhelming amount of sea weeds that had overtaken half of the bottom terrace of the lake. Despite the Bubblehead Charm, which was certainly working wonders for her under-water breathing, it certainly wasn't helping her eyes adjust to the very dark depths of the entire lake. She could faintly make out the swimming forms of Grindylows swimming much further beneath her; they seemed pre-occupied with something else, which she was grateful for.

She squinted through the blackness to try and make out any hints of Harry and Ron. And - quite fearfully - there was nothing that she could find of the two.

She awkwardly began moving her arms around her body in order to turn and survey the area around her.

And then suddenly her entire body froze. Because up ahead of her, struggling with all his might to get to the surface, was Harry. He was surrounded by a flock of Grindylows and the unconscious form of Ron certainly didn't seem to be helping his speed at any rate. But what suprised Hermione was the other unconscious form that was being held onto by Harry. Her silvery blonde hair and her young and unearthly beauty easily tipped you off as to who she was; if you didn't know then you would probably be classified as daft.

Panting into her pink and enclosed bubble, she began to quickly swim towards the fray with her wand in hand.

Her arms were beginning to burn at her outrageous speed; her breathing was even faster now.

Because up ahead she noticed how even more fierce that it had become; Harry was losing and she was scared. She could barely make out the way his free arm - that wasn't blasting the Grindylows to hell - was grasping at his neck. That was where his gills were; if it were even possible, Hermione panicked even more so.

She aimed her wand at the lot of them that resided to the right side; she couldn't afford to hit the hostages or Harry.

"_Bombarda!"_ She shouted through her air inclosed space.

She watched as the burning blue spell collided with the gigantic group of Grindylows, making them scatter - to her disgust, bloodily - all over the area. Some had been clean shot out of the water, it appeared, and some had flown back as such a speed that the had crashed into the furthest cave wall. She would think about how powerful the spell she incorporated was much later on.

She nearly fainted at the inhuman screeching that suddenly assaulted her ears.

And the Grindylows - the remaining few - that had attached themselves to Harry's arms and legs had suddenly scampered off at an inhuman speed; their multiple fish-like tails squiggling quickly as they dove off behind the many tall fields of sea-plants. She kept her wand out in front of her, the tip glowing brightly as she swam quickly and alertedly over to her struggling friend. Harry's hooded eyes were looking at her, and he looked as if he was about to just give up the movement of his arms and legs. She reached out and grasped his arm and pulled him closer to her, struggling to support his heavy weight on her as she swam towards the surface. But Harry's arm tightened around her shoulders, and she glanced at his exhausted face in question.

_'Ron,' _he mouthed.

Hermione's eyes widened and a fine line of rather impressive curses ran rampant in her head.

In her wake to save Harry she had completely forgot about Ron and Fleur's sister. Her eyes glanced around wildly, because it was rather inevitable that Harry dropped them. She felt Harry's hard nudge against her shoulder and she watched as his head weakly motioned towards the left of their bodies; Ron and the girl were rapidly disappearing into the dark depths.

She hurriedly grasped Harry's shoulders and she motioned him towards Ron.

He weakly shook his head in understanding, and he began off in the direction of their friend in an agonizingly slow pace.

Meanwhile, Hermione quickly swam to the slightly closer form of Fleur's sister. She was panting and huffing and mind-numbingly exhausted; she pushed it aside and was able to loop her arms protectively around the young girl's waist and tug her close. Hermione, after a brief glimpse toward Harry - who was in the exact same position with Ron to her left - and the girl to her right, she took off toward the surface. She made sure that Harry was behind her the entire time; her diligent eyes took in the much slower pace he used than to what she was exhibiting.

She could now see the grey clouds of the sky and the surface above their heads.

With one final hard shove of her legs she pushed through the surface of the water; Fleur's now slightly conscious sister at her side.

The Bubblehead Charm immediately ceased and the girl next to her was sputtering for air and whimpering out incomprehensible French. When the girl began to sink back in the water, Hermione grasped her arm tightly around the girl's waist once more and brought her closer. The young girl in question was just staring at her in pure confusion as to who she was. And she could faintly hear the sounds of Harry sputtering himself as he reached the surface; it actually sounded more like a rich, pained breathing. And Ron's harsh pants and murmurs of, "Bloody hell, mate," only completed the entourage of exhausted - and in her case, probably in trouble - band of misfits.

The roar of the crowd was so deafening that she could barely comprehend the girl next to her.

"F-Fleur," whimpered the girl, her blue eyes frightened. "S 'il vous plait, je veux ma soeur."

Hermione got the general gist of the girl's meaning after hearing Fleur's name. She met Harry and Ron's eyes and together they swam towards the platforms.

She couldn't remember much after that. It all seemed to be one wild haze that overtook her vision and it made her feel like she was watching from an outsider's perspective. She could feel strong arms pull her up and it took her several moments to realize that it was Viktor. His eyes were worried and slightly pained, and he instantly wrapped two towels around her body and pulled her close to him, hugging her affectionately.

She watched as Dean and Seamus helped the slumped form of Harry and the still grinning form of Ron onto the platform. They were slapping their hands hard across Harry's back - they really were ignorant gits - and congratulating him. Ron seemed to be just as ignorant as the other two, smiling happily and joking about how it took him long enough. Hermione strongly refrained from rolling her eyes at Ron's severe lack of emotional integrity. And as soon as Hermione had helped Fleur's little sister to the platform, Fleur had all but shoved Maxime aside and had instantly grasped her little sister, unashamed tears now swelling in her eyes. The younger French girl was gesturing wildly and Fleur was cupping her face and speaking to her in rapid French.

A smidgeon of an odd feeling ran through Hermione as she surveyed the two sister's emotional reunion.

Fleur looked so happy, so _relieved _and _raw _with emotion, that Hermione began to second guess at the shallowness and plightness of the French witch.

And Hermione had been studying them so fiercely that she scarcely recalled the forms of Ron and Seamus making their way to her and Viktor's side. The punched her lightly on the arm, much to the irritated scowl on Viktor Krum's face, and began laughing at her with gigantic grins. Harry had shakily stood up behind them, slowly making his way over towards the group as well. Hermione felt the bond between her and Harry expand even more as he met her eyes with pure gratefulness and an overwhelming amount of friendly devotion in his eyes.

"I s'ppose you know that was seriously wicked, Granger," grinned Seamus, his voice emphatic. "Th'nk McGonagall nearly had a heart attack and then proceeded to try to dive in after you."

Ron chortled, his face red with laughter. "I-I can see her now. 'I can't lose my favorite pupil! Unguard you swimming pricks of wrath!' Priceless, mate!"

Even Harry joined in the loud guffaws of the group this time. The only one who wasn't laughing was Hermione herself; she betrayed herself when she felt the light quirk of her lips and the slight rosemary hue to her cheeks. Completely out of character - though she still blamed it on the adrenaline - she grabbed ahold of her cheeks and she impersonated the last image she had seen of McGonagall before she had dove into the lake; hand to her chest and her face a mask of complete and utter terror.

Ron and Seamus were howling now, leaning on each other in order to not lose balance. Harry - though still looking exhausted - just grinned widely at her.

But they all suddenly stopped laughing when the sound of a cleared throat greeted their ears.

Hermione's chocolate eyes glanced up and they slightly widened when she took in the form of Fleur Delacour in front of them. The French witch still looked battered and bruised; there were Grindylow marks all over her arms and shoulders and there was the slightest hint of blue blossoming on her cheek. But in regardless, she still looked flawless. _Somehow. _And Fleur was standing proudly tall with her shoulders squared and her face a mask of aloofness; it kinda meshed with the tear tracks that were on her face. And next to her side, grasping her hand tightly, was her little sister.

The younger sister was looking up at Harry _and_ Hermione with a shy look of awe on her features.

"Gabrielle, leur donner votre merci," murmured Fleur, her accent thick and her voice throaty. She nudged the little girl gently.

Hermione was pretty sure she heard Ron squeak next to her, and she had to refrain from stomping down on his foot and scowling in utter annoyance. Seamus had a slightly dazed look on his features; not as bad as Ron, but certainly not an air of nonchalance, either. And Harry just proceeded to look at the ground shyly. Hermione held her head up high.

The little sister - Gabrielle, she reminded herself - stepped forward and glanced at her and Harry shyly.

"Zank 'ou for saving moi," whispered Gabrielle. Her accent was even thicker than Fleur's and her grasp on English appeared to be weak.

But Hermione understood perfectly. And despite her negative first impressions of Fleur, she moved forward - her towels wrapped tightly around her shoulders - and managed a slight grin at Gabrielle. She nodded her head at the younger girl and Gabrielle's cheeks became inflamed; she quickly went back to Fleur's side and grasped her hand. Fleur's beautiful blue eyes roamed their group, stopping minutely on Harry for a moment, before her eyes swept over Hermione. Fleur's eyes were burning in intensity, her gaze sweeping over Hermione's still slightly shivering form.

Hermione - for some odd reason - felt her cheeks flame when Fleur untied her blue bathrobe that adorned her body; the French witch moved forward gracefully and softly wrapped the robe around Hermione's body, her gaze still scrutinizing the brunette even as she tied the robe shut. Hermione swallowed at the odd display of almost - _chivalry? - _considerate kindness on the blonde's part.

"Oh! Y-you didn't have to really resort to giving me that," said Hermione, her voice suprised. "I really am just fine."

Fleur shook her head regally, her gaze cool. "Non, zat iz 'ours now. 'Ou deserve eet. Zank you for saving my seester."

"You can really thank Harry, then. I just helped," murmured Hermione, her body attempting to preserve the confidence that her fellow teammates didn't seem to have at the moment.

Admiration flashed through Fleur's eyes briefly, before it disappeared.

"May I ask 'hat iz 'our name," murmured Fleur, her tone of voice cordial and her gaze never leaving Hermione's.

"Hermione Granger," she said, tightened her hold around the robe now adorning her shoulders.

Fleur nodded and she gripped Gabrielle's hand in her own once more, turning around and walking away from the group of Gryffindors - Krum excluded - without a second glance back. Hermione released a breath she hadn't even realized she had been holding in. And a nagging voice in her head was telling her that her first initial impression of Fleur Delacour was most certainly off.

"There she goes," murmured Ron, his voice subdued. "Bloody hell."

"It's lovely to see that you're suddenly articulate, Ronald," snapped Hermione, her voice and posture waspish.

She just rolled her eyes at his immature rebukes at her sudden turn of behavior. She just sighed and pretended not to listen, instead patiently watching the judges - who were shooting her still slightly shocked and disgruntled looks - come to a conclusion over the scores. She could practically feel Harry's anxiety and she reached over and grasped his hand delicately. He released a shaky breath and looked at her with slightly vulnerable eyes; Ron was still ranting at her in the background, with Seamus still snorting every so often. She just sighed grasped his hand tighter.

And she let her gaze wander past all of the judges. She just watched in a slight impassiveness as the girls of Beauxbatons crowded delicately around Fleur and Gabrielle. They were speaking in strongly accented French and Fleur was throwing a a few hand gestures out with her perfectly manicured fingers every so often. And just as she turned her head back around to face Harry - if she would have blinked she would have missed it - in order to comfort him, she watched as Fleur's head seemed to turn in her direction and could've sworn, _positively sworn, _that Fleur winked at her. But she admitted that she was probably imagining things; she felt a warm flush oversettle her features and she heard some relatively loud giggles float across the platform.

Pointedly ignoring what probably didn't happen, she grasped Harry's hand tighter.

"I wonder what they're thinking about," murmured Ron, gazing at them dreamily.

"For _Merlin's _sake, Ron!"

All she heard next was Ron's indignant squawk and Harry's sudden laughter as she turned around and smacked Ron across the shoulder.

"Cor, woman! You remind me of mum!"

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The next two weeks seemed to pass by like any regular week.

Well, except for that fact that she had made a newfound friend in the form of young Gabrielle Delacour. Oh, and the fact that the girls of Beauxbatons no longer acted snobbish or rude towards Hermione or Harry. They would always give them a nod of their head or a polite smile; it always ended with envious stares thrown in Hermione or Harry's direction.

She couldn't say the same for Ron, however. And as much as she felt a slight irritation build up and the need to defend him, she just simply found that she couldn't. Because the girl's attitude toward her red-head counter-part was most certainly not brought on just for the amusement of the moment. It was rather embarrassing to be sitting next to Ron when he turned into a mumbling mess whenever a girl in blue just simply walked by.

It was a little ridiculous.

She was suddenly snapped out of her musings when a note promptly hit the back of her head.

She pursed her lips as pure annoyance swelled up within her; she didn't even have to open it to know who it was from. Ron had been positively _relentless _when it came to badgering her about getting him a proper introduction to Fleur; it was if he conveniently forgot about his little shouting match that had taken place across the courtyard pertaining to Fleur's Yule Ball date. Ron seemed to forget abut a lot of things; one of them being _not _to disturb her in the middle of a History of Magic lesson - or any lesson for that matter - and completely disrupt her concentration.

She turned her head around discreetly. _Stop, _she mouthed.

Ron's gaze was absolutely pleading, and he kept gesturing animatedly toward the folded parchment crumbled in her fist. Sighing in annoyance, she placed her quill down on the desk and gingerly unfolded the parchment in her grasp. Her eyes blazed furiously and her nostrils flared as she read Ron's important message; he was positively infuriating! Turning her head back around to face him, she was pretty sure that he had ignored the look of complete anger on her features. Because no one could honestly be that oblivious. But then again, noticing his hopeful grin and his bright brown eyes, she realized that it was Ron.

Ignoring Harry's snickers, she reluctantly picked up her quill to write a proper reply.

_Hey, 'Mione! I was wondering if you've talked to Fleur yet? - R_

_I'm sorry, Ronald. Because beside the fact that you can't get the point that Fleur and myself are just simply acquiantances out of your head, you also are interrupting precious study time and that is something for which I will not stand! Be mature and pay attention to the lesson, Ron. - H _

And making sure that Professor Binns was continuing his customary droll, she hastily flicked her wand and sent the message back.

She just held her breath and waited for the more than obvious reaction that was bound to occur. She wasn't disappointed when she heard two guffaws of laughter and a heart-broken whine behind her. She honestly couldn't quite contain the slight smirk that graced over her delicate features.

"Is there something the matter, boys?"

Binn's voice carried throughout the classroom, causing the still sleeping students to remain blissfully unaware.

"N-no, sir," stumbled Ron, awkwardly clearing his throat.

Binns just nodded his head and continued his lesson. Hermione dutifully realized - for the millionth time, possibly - that she was the only one religiously taking notes over the Goblin Wars. She couldn't help but shake her head when some Hufflepuff girl beside her let out a particularly gruesome snore. If the children of today represented the wizarding politics of tomorrow...she didn't even want to contemplate this disaster. She was once again pulled out of her thoughts by the completely irritating feeling of a note hitting her head once more. She let out an inaudible hiss and tore it open.

_But you're, like, completely chummy with Fleur. AND with her little sister! You could get me a chance for sure! - R_

Hermione rolled her eyes and promptly shoved the note under her History of Magic textbook, much to Ron's angry hiss behind her.

Ron was completely over-exaggerating her closeness with the French witch. Sure, Fleur would give her a respectful nod in the hallways whenever they would pass by each other, and she would even smile at her if she was in a good mood. And she would also tell her to be sure to protect Gabrielle whenever the younger Delacour sister - for some reason - would want to sit at the Gryffindor table with them. Fleur always had similiar requests of protection whenever Gabrielle would just sit in the library with Hermione; Fleur had once jokingly told her that Gabrielle was slightly enamored with both Harry _and _her. Though, with Fleur's speculative eyes, she doubted the blonde was actually jesting; because adoration always rang deep in the young girl's eyes whenever she so much as looked at her.

Despite the initial oddness and the slight embarassment on Hermione's part, the younger Delacour's presence certainly wasn't minded.

It ashamed Hermione to admit that Gabrielle Delacour was actually a lot more mature than probably half of the males at Hogwarts...including Ron.

And it always seemed to bring around Fleur herself for an intellectual conversation; Hermione would never admit that she put aside her dislike of the girl after the Black Lake and she actually enjoyed the presence of Fleur. And although Fleur hanging around with her and Gabrielle was scarce, it was still intellectually stimulating and dare she say it...fun.

_"Qu 'en est-il de ce livre?"_

_Gabrielle was holding up a rather old and torn up book._

_They were currently in the library; Hermione was working on a Transfiguration essay and Gabrielle had joined her earlier, therefore prompting Fleur to join in with them as well - rare as that was. And Gabrielle had gone off in search of a book while Hermione polished off the final paragraph of her essay. It left Fleur to simply gaze airily around the library; her gaze finally settled on Hermione and ended up staying there. And Hermione could faintly recall the slight sweat that had built up in her palms when Fleur's gentle gaze swept over her studying form._

_She remembered glancing up and connecting her gaze to Fleur's._

_The Veela had opened her mouth to say something, but then they had been interrupted by Gabrielle._

_"Non, ce n'est pas approprie` pour vous," murmured Fleur, her voice soft; there was also a bit of...disappointment... that entered her voice._

_Hermione swept her messy bangs from her forehead and watched discreetly as the two sisters seemed to be having a silent conversation with each other. Fleur's gaze looked disappointed, and Gabrielle looked properly chastined; but as she walked away to put away the large tomb her head turned back around and she shot her older sister an impatient gaze._

_Hermione cleared her throat quietly. "Is..is everything alright with Gabrielle?"_

_"Oui," murmured Fleur, her lips pursed and her eyes following her sister. "She 'as, 'ow do 'ou call eet, a vivid imagination."_

After that Hermione stopped trying at attempting to understand the Delacour sisters.

They were beautiful and deceptively intelligent and Hermione was happy that she could finally have found someone Internationally friendly besides Viktor. She was fond of the boy; he was sweet and intelligent, but he wasn't always a fun person to be around. And Fleur and Gabrielle just had that little sense of when someone just didn't want to bothered; they were very perceptive and they didn't push for answers and it was something that Hermione tremendously respected. Because most people just didn't know when not to bother you; that wasn't their case at all.

Hermione felt herself being nudged in the shoulder by a petulant Ron.

"C'mon, 'Mione," he grumbled. "Wanna grab lunch 'fore we go to _double potions."_

His misery was very apparent in his voice; Harry's face matched the tone of Ron's voice. Professor Snape had not been all that friendly this year; calling him friendly was actually a tad of a monumental _misunderstanding._ But if Dumbledore trusted and respected the guy - as much as Hermione didn't want to - then she would respect that. Harry and Ron most definitely did not have the views she had pertaining to Professor Snape; they would be plenty cheerful all year if the man decided to suddenly pursue a different career choice.

But she always had been the reasonable one.

She sighed and hurriedly began putting her items in her knapsack; she purposely ignored their impatient groans. She shuffled to her feet and followed them out of the classroom silently. She just sighed as they picked up a conversation about Quidditch; how Ron could vote for those ghastly Chudley Cannons just simply astounded her.

But when she heard Ron suddenly stumble off from his words, and when she heard Harry exhale shakily before laughing softly, she knew that Fleur must be in the vacinity.

She found herself correct when she spyed the French blonde witch leaning against the door of the Great Hall - elegantly, of course - with a few of her Beauxbaton friends next to her and talking with her.

She found herself huffing in annoyance and grasping both of the boy's arms and jerking them forward with her. She gave a polite nod to Fleur as she passed her by; she felt a soft pink infuse her cheeks when the blonde murmured out a gentle greeting of friendship. She returned the sentiment with a slight smile; Ron was watching them in fascination, while Harry gave the French witch an awkward wave but a heartfelt, " 'Ello, Fleur."

She pointedly ignored Ron's stare as she placed herself next to Harry on the bench.

She began piling a decent portion of a wide variety onto her plate, still ignoring Ron's narrowed stare. She could hear Harry's amused snort as Ron 'sneakily' tried to capture her attention by completely acting a daft fool and coughing rather obnoxiously. She just pursed her lips and reached for the Daily Prophet that was unceremoniously placed in the middle of the table. Ron's coughing was so loud by now that the entire Great Hall was surveying their little group. Hermione stabbed her roast beef viciously.

Ron coughed again.

"What?" She finally snapped, pausing with her fork halfway to her mouth.

"Not friends my arse, Hermione!"

Hermione felt her eyes close in annoyance; she tried to successfully summon her inner patience as she dropped her utensil - more harsh than not - onto her plate. She opened her eyes slowly and looked into Ron's bright brown eyes, which were tinted in slight envy.

"Ron," she attempted, enunciating every syllable to make way into the boy's thick skull, "I think that if you just attempted to actually talk to the girl, rather than make a git ou -"

"It's not that simple, you know," huffed Ron, interrupting Hermione. "You wouldn't understand 'cause your not a hot-blooded male, 'Mione."

Hermione refrained strongly from rolling her eyes at the boy. And while she admitted that at times she was clueless when it came to comprehending Harry and Ron's reasons for fancying certain girls, that small stubborn etiquette of the Granger househeld made her lift up her chin stubbornly and absolutely refuse to see reason. Besides, she did have a fine point of example on her side; Cedric and Krum had certainly been fighting off the Veela charm successfully for weeks now, and Harry was vastly improving.

"You're right, Ronald," she sighed, simply too exhausted to continue this ridiculous argument. "But you won't build an immunity unless you're around it more."

"Exactly," cried Ron, his face was flushed and his eyes were bright with triumph. "That's why we should do this 'International Friendship' that everyone is pushing more."

A part of Hermione wanted to point out that Ron had certainly not been for 'International 'Friendship' whenever he discovered she was Viktor's date to the Yule Ball. And that everyone and their blind mum could see that he most definitely had more than friendship in mind when it came to Fleur Delacour.

She was actually about to make this point; her shoulders had straightened and she had pointedly propped her hands underneath her chin, all but ignoring her meal as of now. But with Harry's exasperated eyes and his quick shake of the head, she politely refrained for poor Harry's sake. Instead she just sighed in an annoyed fashion and picked up the Daily Prophet, blatantly ignoring Ron's now stuffed mouth full of sausages and his - quite honestly, rude attempt - at impersonating Draco Malfoy.

_Triwizard Tournament: More Than Just A Competition For Trophies?_

_By: Rita Skeeter_

Hermione balefully snorted and read - with nothing short of amusement - the way that dear Rita described her 'accurate' perspective on the love lives of the Champions and their friends.

"I broke your heart again, Harry," commented Hermione, her voice dry.

Harry glanced at the Daily Prophet in her hands and shook his head in annoyance when he glimpsed at the article. He just sighed and fiddled with the spoon that was in his now empty bowl; he seemed to be pointedly ignoring Ron by now, who had just gone back to eating and glancing around the hall.

"You really should stop that, Hermione," he muttered, no emotion in his voice. "I won't take you back next time."

Hermione snorted and nudged him gently.

"I don't know if I could handle that, Harry," she murmured, shaking her head. "I just fancy your _scar_- I-I mean _you_, so much!"

Harry let out a full blown grin at this; they next thing she knew they were leaning against each other and laughing heartily. Hermione wasn't necessarily bothered that this had captured the attention of the Great Hall; they would most likely assume something just by them sitting together. It was ridiculous; it was ridiculous and Hermione didn't care, because she had better things to do than just sit around and gossip about nonsense. She heard Parvati's giggle further down the table and rolled her eyes.

Ron had finally stopped eating and he was now leaning across the table and trying to catch a glimpse of the Daily Prophet, which Hermione still had in front of her. She detached herself from Harry's arm and she pushed the article across the table for Ron to read; he snatched up greedily and his eyes flickered in curiosity.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered. "They're making you out to be some scarlet woman."

Hermione guffawed slightly and he blanched defensively; he began muttering that that was what Molly Weasley called them.

"I can only hope she doesn't believe them," sighed Hermione, rolling her eyes. "Won't do me well at your house if she thinks I'm shagging half of Britain."

Ron suddenly snorted. "They even threatened Fleur to watch out for your womanly wiles."

Hermione's eyes widened, and her jaw flapped a little bit in complete and utter absurdness. Rita Skeeter was definitely taking this thing with herself way too far; if the articles weren't about Harry and his life or about Hagrid and his parentage, then they were always quick to mention and speculate over her. It was becoming quite ridiculous.

"Mate, you need'a read this," laughed Ron, flashing the article. "I mean, Hermione and _Fleur; _it's becoming ridiculous."

If Hermione still weren't so flabberghasted herself then she would have been insulted by Ron's offhand comment. But all she could think about was Fleur's reaction in that moment; if she read the article, was she angry? Or did she find it amusing, perhaps?

She could hear the murmurs of the boys suddenly stop; she knew it was Fleur that had just entered the Great Hall. It also tipped her off when she could hear the infamous clicking of the heels that the Beauxbaton girls wore; they all wore them like perfect Runway models. She ignored Ron's suddenly rapt attention and mutterings of Fleur and she watched as the French girl - accompanied by a waving Gabrielle - sat gracefully at the Ravenclaw table with a small gaggle of quietly speaking girls. She attempted a smile and waved by politely at Gabrielle, who happily nudged Fleur - who had been talking to Cho Chang - and gestured towards Hermione.

Hermione felt an odd feeling - nervousness, perhaps - when Fleur's pretty blue eyes turned to look at her. The French girl smiled politely and tilted her head in a sign of respect; Hermione did the exact same motion as the older girl, her nervousness fading slightly when the girl seemed oblivious to scandalous newspapers.

She finally released the breath that she had been holding when the girl turned back into her discussion with Cho.

Hermione glanced down at her plate; the idea of her and Fleur _was _ridiculous.

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**Continue?**


	2. Chapter 2

Wow. Thank you for all of your kind reviews. I very much appreciate it. :)

_Author's Notes and Answers: _Thank you to the reviewer who corrected my French mistakes. I really do appreciate it; I need help sometimes because while I'm in mid-level French, I'm nowhere near fluent. And the reason I chose the title I'll Worry About It Later, was because I wanted this to define Hermione's character in this fiction. Yes, she's very intelligent and rule-bent, but we have seen her break these rules and suprise us many times over the entire franchise.

_About this fic: _While this is definitely going to be a Fleur/Hermione fic, it will definitely focus a great deal on the Trio's friendship and them expanding as characters. There will be romance in later chapters, as you can already see it begin to build subtly in my first chapter, but there will also be a lot of adolescent adventure. Just letting you know. ;)

I apologize for the slowness of this chapter; I'm trying to create a plot, so bare with me.

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_Chapter Two: Veela(Are Seemingly Easily Offended)/The Second-Generation Marauders(Curiosity Killed The Cat)_

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_The Hogwart's Library: 12:30 pm. 3 weeks after the Black Lake._

Hermione sighed in an annoyed fashion as Ron popped yet another chocolate frog into his mouth.

She had somehow managed to convince both Harry and Ron that getting their assignments done early was crucial; or she might have admittedly _dragged _them into the library.

And as much as she took both of their schooling very seriously - even though they really didn't - and tried to continuously assist with her logic, she was beginning to think that this little study trip had been an unfortunate mistake on her part. Because Harry was drooling as much as he was actively writing, and Ron was eating chocolate frogs and just letting his detached gaze scourge over the library lazily. It was disturbing as much as it was _infuriating. _And it was beginning to become an even more perfect scene; Harry now had his head flat against the table with his quill pressed unattractively against his cheek.

And Ron was - like usual - deemed completely and utterly hopeless; he had chocolate on the side of his mouth and he was crafting a bit of parchment into an unknown shape.

Madam Pince had been continuously sneaking her head out and watching the group of three. Her mouth was set in a firm line and she was eyeing Ron and Harry with absolute distaste; her eyes sometimes softened on Hermione on occasion. But Hermione was doing all she really could to stop them from getting kicked out of the library; she was the one making sure to clear up Ron's chocolate frog wrappers.

Hermione gritted her teeth when she heard an obnoxious smack come from the red-headed boy next to her.

"Will you stop acting like a complete and utter pig, Ronald," hissed Hermione, quietly. "If she catches you with chocolate -"

"She won' catch me," muttered Ron, his mouth full of chocolate. "I dunno 'bout you or Harry, but I'm one stealthy bloke."

She was absolutely sure that her face must have reflected her complete disbelief over his statement. But as he continued to unwrap yet another chocolate frog and grin at Harry's slumped form, she surmised that he hadn't noticed. But then again, when had he really ever? Ron was about as oblivious as a memory-devoided Gilderoy Lockhart. And while she adored the boy and really valued his friendship, it honestly was very trying on her part. They were opposites in every way and poor Harry was constantly stuck in the middle of their little spats; whether it be a small tiff or a large blow-out.

She just shook her head and forcefully pushed back her negative assessment of their long-time friendship. She determinedly closed her Charms book and moved to stand, looking over to Ron; she finally caught his gaze and motioned her head toward one of the many rows of books. He just nodded non-commitedly and went back to watching Harry with an amused grin.

"I'll be back in a moment," she murmured, mostly to herself, as she hastined into the third row of books.

She just glanced over each row in slight interest as she absent-mindedly let her fingers caress the spines of the books. She briefly looked at _Advanced Charms in Defense, _before moving on to the next row. She just sighed and was about to just return to the table - despite her annoyance - until a particular book had managed to catch her eye. It was a rather fitting large tomb of a book; it was most definitely an old literature, and the neatly inscriptive spine and the gold lettering attested to that. Hermione's brows furrowed as a vague sense of familiarity captured her.

Her eyes widened as she recalled that this was the book that Gabrielle Delacour had shown a particular interest in that day.

She bit her lip softly and reached out to grab the book gently off the shelf; she opened the front cover - which seemed to be spelled to stay on because of its rather old condition - and her eyes widened at what graced the inside of the beautifully old work of art. Why would Gabrielle pick this book among others?

_'Magical Creatures In A Magical World: The Rituals/Debts/Lifestyle Habits of Veela/Centaurs/Merpeople.'_

Did the youngest Delacour perhaps want her to know the culturalistic ways of her people? Or was Gabrielle not privy to knowledge until a certain age and she was considerably curious?

Hermione felt a warm thrill erupt through her veins at the familiar feeling of curiosity. She released a shaky breath and licked her lips excitedly as a grin blossomed on her soft features; she just absolutely knew that she would be quite persistant until she discovered Gabrielle and Fleur's mysterious personas and properly learn about the Veela race. But a small tidbit of Hermione also felt a hint of doubt fester inside of her; Fleur and Gabrielle Delacour seemed to be very private people - from a very honourable race - and did not seem to want knowledge about them - whether true or false - to be spread among others.

Hermione just held the book in her hands and bit her lip as she contemplated her dilemma.

She released a yelp and nearly dropped the old tomb when a screeching voice echoed throughout the library. Her eyes widened in realization and she hastily put the book back on the shelf - properly and primly, of course - as she quickly made her way over to a screeching Madam Pince, a confused and sleepy Harry, and a completely horrified Ron. The elder witch looked _furious, _and she was gesturing wildly at the empty chocolate wrappers; Ron shrunk back in absolute fear as spittle flew from the woman's mouth. If Hermione were not completely exasperated - and angry - herself, then she would have been considerably amused.

She quickly made her way into the fray and hastily grabbed her belongings; she shot a deeply apologetic look at Madam Pince, who looked just about ready to explode.

Ron and Harry matched her pace and movements at an alarming speed, and they didn't stop their movements until the reached the outside of the library.

_"CHOCOLATE IN MY LIBRARY! I HAVE NEVER -"_

_"SUCH FOOLISH CHILDREN! IN ALL MY YEARS AS AN EDUCATOR!"_

This spew continued for several more minutes as Hermione, Ron, and Harry ran down the corrider at a break-neck speed. They were panting and red-faced by the time they had completely rounded the corner and made sure all of their belongings were in tow. Hermione - after a minute of recovery and glowering glances at Ron - put her hands on her hips and looked at Ron angrily.

Ron tried to act nonchalant; he shrugged his shoulders and ruffled his hair with his large and freckly hand.

"She sure can be a right tart at that time of the month," he mumbled.

Harry and Hermione glowered.

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_Hogsmeade Village: 1:15 pm. _

After Hermione had thoroughly lectured Ron until his ears had turned beet red, she had made her way to the Hogwart's entrance, where Fleur and Gabrielle had been waiting.

She had promised Fleur and Gabrielle that she would show them Hogsmeade and show them around the very familiar territory; Gabrielle had looked so excited and Fleur had looked so friendly that Hermione just couldn't have possibly said no. Fleur had come up the day before - with Gabrielle in tow - and asked if Hermione might take them to the village that all the students seemed to visit.

She felt a little guilty at ditching Ron and Harry; she also felt a little guilty that she wasn't exactly spending an ideal amount of time with Viktor, either.

But she pushed it aside and fully embraced the friendship that Fleur and Gabrielle seemed to readily bestow upon her. Because like she had mentioned previous, she really was coming to enjoy the two girl's company; it was certainly an upgrade from getting kicked out of the library for something she didn't even achieve herself. As much as she loved Harry and Ron, it was a fresh change of pace that Hermione was becoming increasingly fascinated by. She was _almost _excited by every friendly encounter that she and the two Delacours had; she concluded that she had surrounded herself with Harry and Ron for far too long.

Maybe she was just glad that she was finally having intelligent conversations with the same sex.

She was pulled out of her musings by an excited hand grabbing onto her elbow and tugging gently; she looked down towards Gabrielle.

Hermione could only turn around and look at Fleur with wide eyes as she was dragged away towards the candy shop; Fleur's eyes with mysteriously bright as she gazed at them with her lip quirked in one corner. Hermione turned back around and allowed Gabrielle to freely roam the shop; the young Delacour was studying the engorged lollipops with wide eyes. It had taken that single movement for Hermione to remember how truly young Gabrielle was. She just acted so mature for her age, and she was so intelligent at times that Hermione even found herself happily listening to her little theories.

Fleur appeared silently at Hermione's side and also surveyed her little sister's movements. "Really, 'Ermione, zank 'ou for doing this."

"I-it really is no problem," assured Hermione, after her initial suprise wore off. "You two are my friends now and I think you should enjoy your experience here."

Fleur's posture was relaxed and friendly - which Hermione definitely preferred over her confident, aloof one - and she was now exuding a certain warmth around her. It made Hermione smile for reasons unknown; she suspected that it was the fact that Fleur and Gabrielle considered her trust-worthy enough to be even somewhat open with her. She appreciated it, because she had been finding herself respecting them both even more so as time continued to pass. It was nice to have a friendship built on actual respect for once, instead of dependency and endangerment issues.

"I already 'ave," murmured Fleur, gazing at her gently and tilting her head in a friendly acknowledgement.

Hermione felt a soft blush overwhelm her features at Fleur's indirect praise. "You really are giving me too much credit."

"Non, 'ou are getting everyzing 'ou deserve when I give 'ou praise," said Fleur, her voice suddenly losing its gentle reverence and becoming strong.

"I just helped with her, though, " murmured Hermione, gesturing towards Gabrielle's still roaming form. "Harry was the one that saved her and I saved her by association."

Fleur just shook her beautiful blonde hair and gazed at Hermione with a raised eyebrow. Hermione was admittedly intimidated; she couldn't tell if the French witch looked annoyed with her or if she looked amused at her modesty. She had seen Fleur's annoyance before - snobbyish - and she only hoped that it was amusement, because she really enjoyed being on friendly terms with the Beauxbaton's champion and she would be rather remiss if that were to suddenly change because of her humbleness.

Fleur's eyes seemed to soften slightly as she noticed the brunette's hesitant observation; Hermione released a breath that she hadn't been aware of when Fleur smiled a genuine smile at her.

"I zink zat 'ou are pre' aps ze most adorable zing alive," smiled Fleur, her blue eyes lighting with mirth when Hermione ducked her head.

Hermione tried to control the inevitable flush on her features by looking for Gabrielle; she heard Fleur's tinkling laugh beside her and she blushed even more. She finally - after a minute of hesitation - looked up at the French witch who was looking down at her with amusement on her features; Hermione gathered that Fleur rather liked to embarrass her; as if Harry and Ron didn't enough already.

She just tried to control her flushed cheeks and looked pointedly for Gabrielle; the girl seemed to be giggling with a first year Ravenclaw over the Tongue Twisters. She silently cheered in her head when Gabrielle made her way back over to them with a grin on her face; she was holding one of the engorged lollipops in her hands. And as much as Hermione liked talking with Fleur, there were times were she would be entirely uncomfortable with the French girl's constant jests and jokes made out to embarrass her; Gabrielle told her that Fleur did this with all her friends from Beauxbatons, and Hermione had felt momentary happiness after hearing that. It was nice that she got to see a friendly side of Fleur. That, and there something _else _that Hermione couldn't quite identify yet.

Gabrielle had finally stopped her movement fully in front of them; she was gazing at Fleur with a soft pleading in her eyes. Hermione restrained a giggle when the older Delacour sister raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow as she gazed at the lollipop in Gabrielle's hands and her pleading expression.

"Je le veaux," grinned Gabrielle, nervously holding up the sucker.

Hermione didn't even need a translation; the entire sisterly exchange made her grin slightly and she was once again swept away by Fleur's obvious closeness with her younger sibling.

She stepped forward and held out her hand to Gabrielle, who seemed to frown at her in confusion. Hermione gestured toward the lollipop in her hand and Gabrielle - still shooting her a hesitant look - handed it over. Hermione smiled at her reassuredly, and she ignored Fleur's slightly angry protestations as she made her way toward the counter.

"Five sickles, love," muttered the man at the counter, his face uncaring and his unkempt hair a fading grey.

She instantly reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out her wallet; she was stopped from opening it when a firm hand gripped onto her arm and turned her in the direction of the hand gripping her. She shot an incredulous glance when she saw Fleur looking at her determinedly and shaking her head at her firmly. Hermione found herself breathless at the way Fleur's piercing blue eyes swept over her; she couldn't quite determine what was in that gaze. There was something there that confused Hermione; there was determination, slight anger, pride, and something else that was ridiculously fierce.

Hermione snapped herself out of her daze and pulled her arm out of Fleur's grasp gently, attempting to open up her wallet - without interruption - once more.

The dingy man sighed. "I really don' 'ave all day, you know."

Fleur turned her blazing eyes at the man and he just cleared his throat, taking up the sickles instantly and nodding his head at them - after he had given Hermione the lollipop back - in an attempted friendly matter. If Hermione wasn't so confunded by Fleur's initial behavior, then she would have found the man's behavior considerably tickling.

" 'Ave a good day, yer three!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at the man and handed the lollipop to a now wide-eyed Gabrielle.

Gabrielle was looking up at Hermione with a stunned look across her face; Hermione began to slightly panic when the girl's eyes watered rapidly. The brunette quickly tried to apologize to the girl - her hands wringing together and her mouth opened in an attempt to explain - but she was reasonably startled when the young girl instantly reached forward and hugged her midsection tightly. Hermione just cleared her throat gently, slightly awkwardly patting the girl's back. Gabrielle finally pulled away after several long moments - of which Hermione pointedly ignored the inscrutible look Fleur was giving them - and she just gazed up at Hermione.

Hermione felt slight embarrassment - as well as a tiny smidgeon of panic - overtake her when Gabrielle just looked at her in utter adoration.

_'I wonder if this is how Harry feels everyday,' _mused Hermione, blindly following Gabrielle out of the shop after the girl had promptly enclosed her hand with Hermione's.

She could only watch in slight hurt as Fleur bound ahead of them; she wasn't looking back at either of them and her shoulders were as stiff as a board. She felt herself become overwhelmingly lost as to what she possibly could have done that offended the older Delacour. But she was slightly suprised when Gabrielle tugged her hand gently and pulled her to a stop; Fleur continued up ahead, not aware of the lack of movement behind her.

"Don' mind 'er," whispered Gabrielle, gazing up at Hermione with reassurance. "My seester iz very proud and 'as always been like zis."

"All I did was buy you that," Hermione murmured, frowning at the absurdness of it all. "I just wanted to treat you and it wasn't like it cost a spectacular amount."

Gabrielle just sighed and murmured something in French, tugging her hand once more so that they were walking forwards; Fleur was already a reasonable distance away. Gabrielle's striking blue eyes narrowed in thought and her young - but still stunning - face contorted in contemplation. She seemed to be struggling with the right words to say to Hermione, and all the brunette could do was watch in a bemused sort of detachment as they continuously walked. It had taken another full minute before the smaller girl said anything. And when she did, she seemed...hesitant. It was as if she didn't want to relay a certain amount of information, and it made that feeling of curiosity that Hermione felt earlier that day well up inside of her once more. It was a rapid stream of mystery that Hermione instantly deemed to discover.

"Veela are proud," sighed Gabrielle, still seemingly trying to find the words to say. "Zey don' like when uzzer people 'elp them, even if eet iz for somezing small."

Hermione bit her lip, gazing up at the now paused form of Fleur Delacour; she was determinedly looking towards the Beauxbaton carriage - which Hermione hadn't even been paying attention to how far they had gotten - and her arms were crossed in her own intimidating manner. She released a sigh and just tried to stay positive and confident as they approached even closer to Fleur.

"My seester respec's 'ou," whispered Gabrielle, seeing as they were within hearing distance now. "And iz also very fond of 'ou...never forge' zat."

Hermione nodded her head and she just watched as Gabrielle let go of her hand - looking back at her with one final smile - and headed in the direction of Fleur. She just watched with a slightly baited breath as Gabrielle gripped onto Fleur's arm as she passed her by; the girl was whispering something to her in rapid French, and Fleur's piercing blue eyes would glance up in Hermione's direction every so often. The brunette sighed when older Delacour nodded her head - seemingly in acquiescence - as to whatever message her little sister was conveying.

But her nervousness suddenly burst through her skin once more when Fleur began to walk slowly towards her direction. Gabrielle just waved at her in goodbye - there seemed to be a mischevious smile on her face - and then headed in the general direction of the Beauxbaton carriage.

She released a shaky breath when Fleur came within an arm's distance of her body.

The French witch's full, red lips pursed when she met Hermione's gaze head-on; she would be lying deeply if she so much as thought that she wasn't afraid of the Veela's reaction. Because Hermione honestly was; despite Gabrielle's words of indiscrutible comfort, Hermione still found herself slightly fearful as to what the beautiful girl would say to her. But a small part of Hermione - so faint and unsurrounding that she could almost hardly recall - felt a little anger at herself that she was so nervous as to what Fleur would say. Because despite the Veela's proud nature, she wasn't about to apologize for being friendly and therefore treating a friend.

That's why Hermione - unconsciously, she was quite sure of - lifted her chin and tried to regain her confidence lost on this honestly confusing day.

Fleur's eyes had lost whatever consumed them earlier, and she was now gazing at Hermione's confident gaze with a look of slight admiration. It made her even more confident than before; Fleur hardly ever looked at anyone with admiration or respect, and she had only seen that particular gaze aimed at Maxime, Dumbledore, Harry, and herself. It gave her a soft thrill and it made her feel even stronger, for some oddly annoying reason.

"I won't apologize," murmured Hermione, her voice firm. "I just wanted to do something nice for her because she is my friend."

Fleur's gaze was so intense that Hermione felt like there was ice covering her entire body; not the painful kind that made you quiver and feel intimidated, but the particular kind that made you feel like you were waking up to something that you didn't realize before. It made Hermione's brows furrow and she tried desperately to decipher what exactly everything meant. But when Fleur turned her head away once more, and surveyed the Beauxbaton carriage that was lined up beautifully upon the Hogward's grounds, Hermione then realized that it was one of those moments that just lasted what it was supposed to be - a moment.

For some odd reason, the feeling of disappointment lingered much heavily on Hermione's mind - and for what she didn't know, maddeningly so - than the actual mystery occuring. Never had she met someone that made her mind tremble and generate desperately to find a possible answer; except Dumbledore perhaps, but that old man made everyone feel that way.

Fleur sighed. "I didn' zink zat 'ou would do anyzing like zat."

"I-I just wanted to make you feel welcome," groaned Hermione, trying to not get exasperated. "Gabrielle said that you didn't really have any Hogwart's friends and I want to change that."

"I know zat," nodded Fleur, looking back at Hermione and uncrossing her arms. "Eet iz just uncommon for anyone to be nice to Gabrielle. Eet iz always ulterior motives."

Hermione opened her mouth to objectify to this, but Fleur shook her silvery blonde head gently.

"I know zat 'ou are different," she soothed. "Zat iz why I must apologize. My reaction was inappropriate. 'Ou 'ave already done so much by saving Gabrielle, and 'ou 'ave been very honourable."

Hermione wanted to open her mouth and protest about her heroism concerning Gabrielle, but she relented. Because Fleur seemed to be a very proud woman, and apologizing to anyone seemed to be a very rare occurance; she also remembered Gabrielle's admission to Veela being very proud creatures. So Hermione allowed Fleur to praise her without interruption, because it seemed that it was something that Fleur needed to formally say to her; the curiosity bludgeoned into her once more and she was positively itching to learn about the Delacours, or even the Veela mannerisms in general.

"Zank 'ou," murmured Fleur, her voice containing that throaty allure. "Zat iz 'hat I should say, non?"

Hermione just nodded her head shyly and smiled up at Fleur, who was now looking at her with a gentle look of kindness. She felt something odd when Fleur then proceeded toward her, so that her lithe body was now merely inches away from her own; Fleur had a considerably good three inches on Hermione.

And the look in Fleur's eyes was still kindness as she just looked down at Hermione and tilted her head in that customary sign of respect between the two. Hermione quickly echoed the movement, watching the French witches' graceful movement as the blonde hair fell onto the woman's pale and perfectly rosy cheek. Then Fleur did something that absolutely shocked Hermione. She reached out and gracefully grasped Hermione's hand in her own perfectly manicured one, and never taking her eyes off of Hermione's, she kissed the back of Hermione's hand.

Hermione felt a wicked flush envelope her entire face and neck as the French witch bestowed yet another act of chivalry upon her. She knows that it is a customary tradition, but it was still just as flattering and just as confusing as when Fleur had given her her robe after the Black Lake.

Hermione tried desperately to label it as a lack of all things chivalrous when it came to being friends with Harry and Ron; she wasn't accustomed to it.

She cleared her throat and smiled in graciousness up at Fleur, who had now dropped her hand gently and gave Hermione and friendly smile.

Fleur gestured her head at the Beauxbaton's carriage. "I shall see 'ou around, non?"

Hermione quickly nodded her head and gave Fleur a wave as she backtracked her steps and turned around and headed toward the Hogwart's entrance. She couldn't help but smile a little bit, because beside the fact of the minor misunderstanding - maybe a slight understatement - she actually had a fun time with the Delacour sisters.

"Oh! And "Ermione?"

Hermione's eyes widened and she turned around quickly at the French woman's shout. Fleur was now at the very front of the Beauxbaton's carriage; she was had turned sideways and she now had a very mischevious smile on her face. She found herself considerably worried when Fleur's eyes sparked with a little humor; she always was embarrassed when the French witch teased her.

"I 'ave 'eard about 'our womanly charms," shouted Fleur, laughing delightfully. "I s'ppose that I am next, non?"

Hermione's eyes bugged out slightly and her jaw quivered with utter shock - and more than a little humiliation - as Fleur now shot her a mock-tempted look across the Hogwart's courtyard. The French witch was happily putting her hands on her hips and raising her eyebrow at a - now blushing - Hermione. Fleur always had a considerably wicked sense of humor; it wasn't as fun when it was aimed at her...which was now.

" 'Ou didn' 'ave to charm Gabrielle as well," Fleur teasingly shouted. " 'Ou could 'ave just asked if you wanted a date."

Hermione was pretty sure her face resembled a tomato right now; she hastily turned around and began walking quickly into the Hogwart's entrance, still listening to Fleur's teasing laughter at the Beauxbaton's carriage. She honestly didn't know whether to be relieved that Fleur obviously had a sense of humor about it all, or be horrified that Fleur had a sense of humor about it all. All she knew was that she was ridiculously relieved that she was now successfully hidden in the Hogwart's walls and that she didn't have to face Fleur with her embarrassment. But as she walked down the considerably dark hallways, she realized two things.

One: She was now fascinated and ridiculously determined to get her hands on that Veela book.

Two: Fleur obviously had read the Daily Prophet.

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_The Gryffindor Common Room: 10:15 pm._

Luckily, Harry and Ron were not exactly bitter when Hermione had gone off to Hogsmeade without them.

Well, Harry certainly hadn't been: Ron had found out who she had gone with and promptly began asking Hermione several series of questions pertaining to Fleur's interests.

And Hermione was honestly about to completely lose her already waning patience with the boy. Because he hadn't necessarily caught on that she was outright ignoring him; he should have though, because it had been the better part of two hours as of this point. They were sitting around the closest sofa next to the fireplace; their usual spot. Harry was on the chair and doing his Divination essay only half-heartedly; his emerald green eyes would constantly drift to everyone else in the common room before he would write another sentence. He would only give a non-committed shrug or nod of his head when Ron would ask him something.

And Ron was currently sharing the sofa with Hermione; actually, he was nearly taking up the entire sofa and Hermione was pushed up into the corner with her legs underneath her and her Arithmancy book on the arm of the sofa. She didn't mind, because she would rather not be anywhere near Ron when she finally lost her patience and practically mauled the boy. But he just continued to babble on happily, a pack of Droobles on the floor beside him - responsibly, as well as his Potions book - and his arms propped underneath his head of fiery red hair.

"Reckon they don' have anyt'ing in Zonko's that Fleur would like very much," he mumbled, his mouth halfway full with Droobles.

Hermione just sighed and continued to read her book, glancing at Harry's exasperated eye roll out of the corner of her eyes. She had just mentioned that they had only visited a few shops; one being the candy shop and Fleur had briefly looked into The Hogs Head before pulling her head out with her nose scrunched in distaste. And now Ron was giving a running commentary about what Fleur would like in Hogsmeade.

"I reckon they wouldn't, Ronald," she sighed, turning the page of her book slowly.

Harry seemed as desperate as her, so he attempted to change the subject. "Pince tried to maul us when we passed by the library earlier tonight."

Thankfully, it worked.

"I know," groaned Ron, shaking his head. "Had only a little chocolate and the woman goes barmy."

Hermione sighed. "Maybe if you had listened in the first place..."

"I forgot one bloody wrapper, 'Mione," growled Ron. "It's not like I had gotten it all over and made'a mess out'a everything!"

She just let loose a suffering sigh and gazed into the fire; Ron just continued on with his rant of why teachers always lost their heads - reasonably so - when students seemed to do something 'minor' in regards to bending the rules. Harry only looked half-way torn inbetween agreeing with Ron and and just looking annoyed at him. He decidedly settled on the first choice.

"We just went there to finish our work, Hermione," muttered Harry. "It's not like we were eating chocolate and getting it all over the entire library."

Hermione just shook her head and didn't even attempt to get in on the argument; Harry and Ron together always formed a considerably stubborn - and formidable - team. A small part of her wanted to argue back, because she had been looking around the library when they were 'attempting' to finish their schoolwork; she had been kicked out of the library for something she didn't even do. And that one thought in her head triggered her memory instantly.

The Veela book.

She had honestly forgotten all about it when she had returned and saw Harry and Ron earlier; now it was past curfew and she had no way to getting the book. She cursed inwardly, because even just the mere memory of her conversations with Gabrielle and Fleur rang loudly in her head; she felt that overwhelming curiosity begin to consume her once more. She readily tried to ignore it; she began concentrating on her Arithmancy book with a renounced fervor, and she even tried listening in on a conversation about Quidditch after she realized she couldn't concentrate on Arithmancy.

She wanted that book.

She pushed aside her screaming conscious that was telling her that she could get it tomorrow as soon as the library opened. But that familiar feeling that Hermione felt whenever she was desperate to learn more reared its ugly head and it kept tugging at her mind insistantly; she realized that she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight unless she had gotten that book and sustained her curiosity. It was something that was a reward - for all of her built up knowledge and spectacular grades - and a curse simultaneously. It was definitely a curse to her as of right now, because she felt guilty that she would be learning things that she might not is supposed to know, and because it was past curfew and there was no way to get that book without a little rule-bending of her own.

But she had snapped her book shut determinedly when she felt herself already humming with anticipation; she would never admit that rule-breaking was as exciting as it was following the rules and being praised for it. Maybe Harry and Ron really had transferred a part of themselves into her over the last four years; she dreaded the thought.

"I'm going to the library," said Hermione, promptly.

Harry and Ron paused in their conversation and just stared at Hermione in a flabberghasted fashion.

"The library is closed, Hermione," enunciated Harry, his words purposely slow. "It's past curfew, remember?"

"That's right," she nodded. "That's why I'll need your invisibility cloak, Harry."

She was astoundingly sure that this was the funniest reaction that she had ever gotten from her two boys. Harry was gaping like a fish out of water, and Ron was looking back and forth between Harry and Hermione, his index finger pointing at her limply. He opened his mouth to say something, but then decidedly closed it; he looked confunded.

"That's...," started Ron, his face suddenly turning red, " - that's funny, 'Mione!"

He was suddenly wrapping his arm around his waist; he was chortling loudly, and his face colour was suddenly matching his hair. His knees had sunk down onto the red and gold carpet, and his back was now pressed against the couch; he had laughed so hard that he had slid to floor. And Harry was just staring at her in astonishment, and he was shooting Ron amused looks every so often. It took several minutes for Hermione to actively loose all of her patience. She huffed impatiently and placed her hands on her hips and raised both of her eyebrows; she meant business and Ron instantly stopped laughing.

"Cor, Hermione," gaped Ron, finally realizing she meant business. He glanced over at Harry. "I think she's actually bein' serious, mate."

"You are correct, Ron," huffed Hermione. "I am being quite serious. Now if you can give me the cloak and stop wasting my precious time -"

"But why the library? You _finally _want'a sneak out and its to go to the sodding library!"

"I need a book."

"Obviously," piped Ron, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You ain' gonna go there to do your homework, are you?"

Harry swiftly interrupted the impending argument. "Can you two pipe down? And give me a second, I'm gonna go fetch the cloak and then we'll leave."

"We?" Hermione's brows were furrowed and her tone was laced with skepticism.

Harry just ignored her irritation as he quickly trapsied towards the stairs; Ron was still looking at her as if she had grown an extra appendage. She just crossed her arms and sighed as she waited for Harry to return, and she pointedly ignored Ron's inquisitive stares that were unsubtly aimed in her direction. She just hoped that he wouldn't ask questions.

For some odd reason, she really didn't want Harry and Ron to know that she was intending to read a book that concerned Veela. The secretive part of herself wanted to keep the two of them in the dark in regards to anything concerning Fleur and her friendship with her; her knowledge of Fleur, to be more precise. She felt as if this were her secret to keep; as trustworthy as the two of her friends were - disregarding their prat moments, of course - and had always been, she just knew that Fleur would not want anyone to be privy to certain aspects of her race and herself. It partially made Hermione pause and question herself to the fact that Fleur didn't even seem to want her to know certain things about her. But this is when Hermione viewed curiosity and the hunger for knowledge the worst of her traits; it had the ability to make or break the relationships in her life.

She heard Ron's impatient huff before she heard the rapid footsteps head over in their direction. Her chocolate curls bounced when she quickly turned her head and noticed Harry's small and excited form approaching the fireplace with the cloak tucked securely under his arm. He subtly inclined his head toward the portrait hole and they quickly followed his retreating form.

"Let's do this," grinned Harry, excitement covering his features and his green eyes bright with enthusiasm. He untied the cloak.

"You are a little too excited for my liking, Harry," intoned Hermione, her voice dry but her eyes alight with fondness.

Harry just nudged her gently and attempted - and failed the first time, spectacularly so - to wrap the cloak around their growing teenage figures. If anyone were to blame in this situation, it would most certainly be Ron; he was a good three inches on the both of them - Harry and Hermione were practically the same height - and the cloak only went mid-calf on him.

"If you could be any taller, Ron, tha'd be great," growled Harry.

" 'Tis not my fault, Harry," mocked Ron. "Im'a growing teenage boy, unlike you two trolls."

"Will you two just be quiet," she groaned, attempting to pull Ron's shoulders down so that he was bent. "And Ron, trolls are actually very fascinating creatures -"

"Yeah," he grouched, finally fitting into the perfect position. "So is the giant squid."

Hermione just shook her head exasperatedly. They had finally made it out of the portrait hole and were now walking down the fire-lit corridor; luckily everyone had the sense of intelligence to be completely silent as of this point. She just listened to their gentle breathing and their quietly progressing footsteps as they turned into a connecting hallway.

Ron was hunched over quite impressively - scowling all the while, she might add - and Harry was glancing alertedly into each and every crook of the dead silent corrider. Every so often he would glance down at the Marauder's Map - which she hadn't even realized he pulled out - and nodded to himself. Sometimes, he would glance up at her and would smile at her like a little boy, and her heart would fill with adoration and she couldn't help but smile back at her best friend; despite the obvious mutiny at hand, a part of her loved seeing Harry like this. The adventuristic qualities in him is what had attracted her to be his friend in the first place.

His eyes suddenly widened when he glanced back down at the Marauder's Map.

"Moody," he whispered quietly, and he gestured his head at a statue that was in the middle of the hall.

Hermione and Ron nodded and they made their way quietly - albeit, very quickly - over to the statue; after several seconds of almost inaudible hisses, they finally managed their way behind it. They were breathing as quietly as the possibly could, and Hermione noticed that Ron was even covering his mouth with his hand.

Her heart was thudding loudly in her ribcage, and the pure adrenaline that had been present at the Black Lake was now coursing in her veins. She looked over toward Harry, and somehow she knew that he was feeling the same; they could get in a reasonable amount of trouble, but they were in the moment and it was a tad bit _exciting._ And this feeling grew bigger and bigger as the sound of Moody's wooden leg drew closer to the three students in hiding. She unconsciously froze when Moody appeared in the left corner of her vision; and she felt like a complete stiff as he progressed until he was directly straight in front of the statue.

Harry was holding the Marauder's Map in an absolute death grip - it was still open, revealing Moody's dot directly in front of their three - and he was meeting Ron's eyes every few seconds.

But Hermione nearly shrieked, very nearly shrieked, when a sudden cry had enveloped the corrider. Her entire body nearly hit the wall when she reared back in shock, and Harry and Ron's eyes grew impossibly wide when a few strangled groans erupted from in front of them; it was obviously coming from Moody.

She managed to glance at her two coherts, who looked reasonably confused themselves. She shakily tried to maneuver her body around the side of the statue to view what was occuring; she ended up having to nudge Harry - who was directly next to her - and Ron in order to avoid the cloak falling off of her. She kept her mouth clamped shut as she anxiously adjusted her body to the side of the statue. Her body went to completely rigid, and complete horror enveloped her body as she watched the thrashing form of Moody on the ground. Her heart was nearly in overdrive and her palms were shaky as his form twisted on the ground; he looked like a vicious snake, his body twirling and shaping and transforming into something. She found herself looking over at Harry and Ron desperately.

"We have to help him," she whispered quietly, her lips barely moving. It was rather unecessary after hearing the loud sounds of anguish that escaped their professor.

Harry's arm gripped hers tightly, and he shook his head quickly. He then motioned his head back towards Moody and that was when Hermione froze.

Moody's shoulder-length, stringy hair was shrinking. And his scarred face was moving rapidly; it was bubbling and transforming and the teeth in his mouth were whitening and becoming perfectly aligned. The wooden leg was was pushing itself out in an almost gruesome fashion, like an extra appendage was growing. And his body was twisting and curling and _shrinking_; it was becoming lean and taller.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron watched in indescribable horror as the body arched and the bones made rather harsh snapping sounds.

That was when Hermione noticed the infamous silver flask. Moody's - if that was who he even was - hand was grasping at it desperately, and when he got ahold of it he twisted the cap. He growled desperately as he began drinking greedily from the flask, his still morphing face contorting in absolute disgust as he drank the vile liquid. She watched as he transformed once more; his hair grew out once more, his wooden leg had been pulled back in with a resounding pop, and his body regained that slightly shorter and rounder physique.

She nearly choked on her own spittle when the man - after spending several moments panting on the ground - got back to his feet and continued on, luckily not glancing back.

Harry was suddenly tugging at her elbow insistantly, and she turned to meet his frowning face; he was pointing at the Marauder's Map.

_Barty Crouch Jr._

Hermione frowned heavily as she glanced up into her friend's confused gazes. She looked back down at the map.

_Alastor Moody._

Clearly, the book on Veela would have to wait until tomorrow.

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**Yes? Still going strong?**


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all for the awesome reviews. :)

_Author's Notes and Answers: _Thank you for the couple of authors who pointed out the Marauder's Map error. I believe that it did show Moody in his office the entire time in the book. Don't completely quote me on that, because it has been 6 years since I read the fourth book, at least. So I'm obviously going to change it around a little and not completely follow the book. There's gonna be some changes and I will try and give hopefully good explanations as to why the characters will be doing what they're doing. Because remember: Harry, Ron, and Hermione might be smart - that's questionable with Ron - and might be talented with magic, but they are young and are quite known for their sudden leap into the fray; despite Hermione's best efforts, of course. They're not perfect. And I believe Gabrielle is 8 in the Goblet of Fire. And this story will remain Hermione-centric. I just think Fleur is more mysterious when interacting with a character whose POV it leans toward. That, and despite the romance that I do promise you, I still want to focus a lot on the action. ;)

And as much as I would like to apologize about the length of this chapter and the adventures abound, I simply can't.

Blandness - where's the fun in that, right?

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_I Wanna Know/The Breakfast Club(Well Isn't This Awkward)/Of Trees, Spells, And Messrs Gred And Feorge_

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_The Gryffindor Common Room: 12:09 AM. 5 days after Moody._

Ever since they had inadvertantly stumbled upon "Moody's" secret, they had been left shaken.

And left at an understandable crosspoint.

They had mostly just kept to themselves; whenever they had Defense Against the Dark Arts they just pretended as if that night never happened. Hermione certainly didn't agree with this prospect in any way, and she had tried countless times to convince Harry to take it to Dumbledore; he was ridiculously stubborn. And since then, things had been a little tense between the two of them. Because she might have let it slip that he was being a 'daft git' and 'this whole adventuristic quality and his reluctancy to let the adults handle it would eventually get him killed.'

He hadn't taken that very well, and he had responded to her well-meanings with a flash of his emerald eyes and his own scathing comeback. And Ron had immediately agreed with Harry - as always - and didn't want to immediately alert the authorities. But thankfully, the red-head's voice hadn't held any of the malice that Harry's held. So - shockingly - her friendship with Ron wasn't as tense as it was with Harry's at the current moment. Still, the reasonings of Harry and Ron would never cease to infuriate her completely; it would never cease to make Hermione's head spin with their considerably questionable logic, either.

So she had tried to keep her distance from the two, but only slightly.

She helped them research on who Barty Crouch Jr. was, and after the many articles she had found she had been horrified; she never failed to bring up Crouch Jr. in an argument to make her two boys see logic. As usual, the attempts had been met with ultimate failure. And she also had pushed Harry until he revealed that that was the man from his dream. His dream concerning Voldemort and his plans. And after being initially scared out of her wits and more than a little fierce, she had realized that Harry hadn't wanted to tell her because he knew she would try and convince him to tell Dumbledore once more.

After that, she had completely given up on convincing them of anything that related to authority; they just wouldn't justle in their stubborness.

So while she had left them to secret discussions on what to do - which she promptly rolled her eyes at - she had finally sustained her curiosity and had gotten the Veela book. Admittedly, she had only read one page because her ears would perk up with interest - and slight disdain, admittedly - when Harry and Ron would discuss their 'plan of attack.'

Which was currently taking place right now; they were sitting on the couch in front of the fire, and she was in the chair. It was perfectly fine with Hermione, because a part of her honestly just wanted to read the Veela book and learn more about her French friend; Fleur appeared to be increasingly distracted lately, and Hermione was slightly curious, if not a little worried, for her.

She just shook her bushy brown hair and tried to push the confusing jumble of Fleur and the entire Crouch Jr. situation out of her head.

She bit her lip and refocused her eyes on the rather torn pages in front of her vision.

_Most of the races of Veela/Centaurs/Merpeople are proud of their race. Most._

_There are a handful of only half and quarter-breeded species in the magical world; they are incredibly rare to find and are somewhat considered to be more volatile than their pure-blooded counter-parts._

_When it concerns the half-blooded and quarter-blooded species, their traditions do not vary from the pure-blooded traditions. Most of these creatures still reside within the same vicinity and/or tribe of their pure-blooded predecessors. Unless they are considered to be outcasts with their species, they still reside and follow normal species' traditions and etiquette. _

_One vast difference, however, does show itself in the form of the mating habits. _

Hermione's eyes widened slightly and she tilted her head in interest; she pointedly ignored the increasingly heated conversation between Harry and Ron. She was honestly more curious with this at the moment. It's not that she wanted to know about Fleur in general - because that would be unexplainable and would leave her undoubtedly confused - and Gabrielle, she genuinely wanted to know the etiquette and mating habits of all of these mesmerizing creatures. She hastily turned to the next page and she pointedly skipped the parts on Centaurs and Merpeople.

_The mating habits of Veela:_

_Veela are known to be very sexual creatures; possessiveness is quite common in their race, too. Veela can have many sexual experiences while they live, and only one person cannot satisfy them enough times. Many of these stunning creatures take on more than one mate, which could be considered quite aghast by people in the magical world. There have been few occassions where a Veela has only one mate, and they actually remain with that single mate. Because Veela can progress from one mate to the other; it's a long process, but it is a possible outcome in a relationship with a Veela._

_Despite being the mate(s) of Veela, it is a very long process to see forth. Veela are very proud creatures, and not just anyone can capture their attention. Sexually, Veela will conquest just about anyone they truly desire, but when it comes to the actual feeling of attraction and wanting a mate, it becomes a lot more complicated. When it comes to attraction, which is stage one of the mating process, Veela have a heavy tendency to either relentlessly pursue or woefully keep their distance. It has a lot to do with who the man or woman is; it also depends heavily on the acceptance of their parents and/or tribe. _

_Do not let any of these astonishing facts frighten you, because it is very possible to be on friendly terms with a Veela - _

Hermione just released a shocked breath and shook her head slightly.

Fleur - and the race of Veela in general - were seemingly quite problematic. And she initially had no clue about the mating habits of Veela at first; she remembered Gabrielle's slight reluctancy and Ron's slight noise of disgust when she had asked them on the information concerning Veela. She could now fathom why the Delacour sisters were so secretive about their race; people admired their beauty, but it seemed as if their traditions were normally frowned upon. And despite Hermione's rescue and welcoming presence, they still respectfully kept an arm's distance away from her.

It was very understandable in Hermione's opinion. The magical world seemed full of many bigots and hypocritical supremacists. She couldn't recall how many terms Malfoy and the other Slytherins had thrown her way, and she could see the way - completely realized or not - the rest of the purebloods in school walked in a more superior fashion; sometimes they weren't even aware that they unconsciously frowned whenever she said muggle-born, despite how nice they could be. And she had seen the way house-elves were treated, and she absolutely couldn't stand it. Unfortunately, SPEW hadn't really progressed beyond Harry, Ron, or herself. Even Hagrid had given her an earful when she had tried to give him a badge. But overall, she knew - and respected - their privacy from others.

She sighed and turned another page of the worn book, preparing to learn more, when -

_CRACK!_

Hermione yelped - along with the remaining awake Gryffindors - when a flustered Fred and George Weasley suddenly appeared in the middle of the common room.

She gently bent down and picked up her book from the floor - which she had dropped in shock when the Weasley twins appeared out of nowhere - while Harry and Ron began spouting off questions. Fred and George just shook their heads at Harry and Ron's questions and pulled out their wands; that's when Hermione noticed how dirty they were. They looked as if they had been rolling around in the dirt or willingly cleaning out the dirty broom-closets of Hogwarts with their bodies. But knowing Fred and George, she probably wasn't far off in her general assessment.

Fred waved his wand and the dirt on the right side of his face disappeared. And George waved his wand along his ripped pant leg, which exposed his pale and freckly skin and was intermingled with many lines of dirt. They both just sighed and sat down on the floor between the couch and the chair Hermione currently occupied. They looked exhausted, but slightly proud; Hermione didn't want to even know.

"Sorry 'bout the scare, ickle Ronniekins," began Fred, who was grinning at his twin.

"But we were on the run from Moody," finished George, shaking his head. "He is one scary bloke, let me tell ya."

"Could it be his eye -"

" - That follows your every movement -"

"Or could it be his generally good-looks -"

" - That completely enrapture the females of Hogwarts -"

"Or could it possibly be that he is completely mental," they both finished, grinning.

Hermione just shook her head in annoyance; she would never admit to being amused by the immaturity that _was _Fred and George. Someone had an example to set around here, and clearly it was always going to be her. Because she knew that Fred and George had been pranking the Slytherins endlessly this last year - despite Snape's fury and the knowing twinkle in McGonagall's eyes - and had been sneaking out plenty of times, and you would have to be blind to not notice that they were up to no good. But Hermione never really had caught them in the act, so there was nothing that she could really do about it; all she could really do was lecture.

But suddenly, the air shifted.

She could sense it strongly; Harry had become tense and he was throwing these looks toward Ron, who was wringing his hands together. And Ron had looked briefly her way before looking back toward Harry. You would have to be completely oblivious to miss that they had been scheming. And you would have to be even more daft to not immediately know that it had something to do with Crouch Jr.

Harry suddenly cleared his throat. "I thought Flitwick was patrolling tonight."

George winced slightly. "He normally does on Tuesday, but when we rounded the corner we saw Moody -"

" - And made a run for it," finished Fred.

They both seemed to look apologetic, and that's when Hermione realized what exactly they had been doing. Her brown eyes widened and her head hastily snapped toward Harry and Ron, who wouldn't even look at her; Harry didn't seem to care about her realization and Ron had the smallest flicker of guilt cross his face.

But ignoring her irritation - and slight betrayal - with Harry and Ron, she carefully surveyed Fred and George out of the corner of her eye. They were both glancing at each other slightly nervously, and they both began gesturing their head nervously at Harry, who began to frown. And they began to look slightly paler than normal; their freckles popped out in her vision even more so than usual. They looked incredibly guilty, and Hermione knew that it had nothing to do with her benefit; they were looking guiltily at Harry, who was looking increasingly frustrated at the two.

"What?" He finally snapped.

They both cleared their throats nervously and stood up. George put his hands in his robe nervously and began to shift slightly, and Fred just ran his large and freckly hand through his red hair in a sign of complete nervousness. Hermione felt an odd sense of knowing overtake her body, despite the fact that she had known nothing of their little scheme.

"Listen, mate," mumbled Fred, his eyes darting around the common room. "We'll do everything we can to help you get it back -"

George nodded and interrupted, "Merlin's honour -"

" -But while we were running and hiding from Moody, er, well, we might have dropped the Marauder's Map."

Hermione just closed her eyes and shook her head, and she could hear Ron's groan and the Twin's profuse apologies. She opened her chocolate eyes and watched as the horror made itself known on Harry's face; his emerald eyes were wide in fear and his cheeks were rapidly turning an impressive shade of magenta.

"And where is it now?" Harry enunciated each word, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

Fred and George just glanced at each other and then at Harry. "Moody picked it off before we could even think of getting Peeves to somehow distract him."

Hermione had to strongly withhold an annoyed sigh as she slammed her book shut and set it on the table next to her. She just leaned back and watched as Harry stood up and began pacing nervously; his face was taught with worry lines and his shoulders were hunched in an almost defeated manner. Ron was just glaring at Fred and George, who began profusely apologizing once more as they hastily backtracked toward the boy's dormitory. The rest of the Gryffindor common room had completely emptied by now, and all the sounds that were left was the fire crackling, Harry pacing, and Ron still groaning in disbelief.

Ron finally seemed to anxiously meet her gaze from the couch, and he subtly gestured his head in Harry's direction. She knew he wanted her to talk to him, calm him down; she had always been the voice of reason even when others didn't want to hear it. And Harry perhaps needed to in this moment, because the way his forehead was scrunched in contemplation and the way his eyes were forming that mischevious glint, she knew he was going to run off and do something completely nutters.

"Harry..."

His gaze snapped towards her and his eyes held an annoyed glint for the briefest second. But his eyes seemed to soften by the second as he took in her sympathetic expression; she knew that arguing with him would probably try and motivate him further, and that was not what she wanted.

"Harry, you need to calm down," she murmured, trying to diffuse a time-bomb. "We will get the Marauder's Map back. We just have to -"

"Have to what, Hermione?" He snapped. "Crouch isn't stupid. When he realizes what that map can do he will destroy it."

Hermione just shook her head impatiently and stood to her feet. She calmly walked towards Harry until she was directly in front of him; she took in his stiff form and the way he was glaring at her. And out of the corner of her eye she could see the way Ron was sitting rigidly in his chair; he looked ready to spring up and justle himself in-between a fight. But Hermione knew that even at his meanest and most annoyed, that Harry would never hurt her. And she could already tell that he was beginning to calm himself down merely by the comforting touch of her hand on his elbow; she was caressing it gently.

"Not necessarily, Harry. Do you think Crouch would destroy something as useful as a map that shows where everyone is at every time of the day?"

Harry frowned, contemplating. "No...no he wouldn't."

"Exactly," smiled Hermione. "But he also knows that this map could expose him to everyone, so you know that he will keep it safe."

Harry nodded, but then he looked slightly frightened. "If he knows what the map does, then why doesn't he suspect us already for knowing who he really is?"

"Because he doesn't know who dropped the Marauder's Map tonight," piped Ron.

Hermione nodded with Ron's statement and she saw the way Harry's body visibly sagged in relief. Harry finally placed himself back next to Ron on the sofa; he still looked contemplative, and Hermione just knew that he was already thinking of ways to get the Marauder's Map back into their possession.

She went back over to her chair and she pulled out a spare bit of parchment and a quill from her knapsack. She rubbed her eyes tiredly as she sat down on the couch next to Harry and Ron, pointedly ignoring their looks of inquisition. After sloppily scrawling "ideas" onto the top of the parchment, she looked over at Harry and Ron. They were now looking at her with wide eyes.

"Well, if we're planning to do this then when need to do so accordingly."

She had to stop her own smile when she noticed Harry and Ron's.

/

/

_The Great Hall: 8:45 AM. (The next day)_

Hermione just stared in blatant disgust over Ron's obviously well-mannered table etiquette.

The lanky red-headed boy had a decent thread of yellow yolk glued to the side of his mouth; his actual mouth was full of a concoction that included sausage, toast, and jam. And he was still blabbering on endlessly - they had been arguing for a good while, now - and now gesturing wildly with a utensil in both of his large hands. Even Harry was beginning to wince slightly, because this intially quiet - and secretive - conversation had now drawn the entire attention of the entire Great Hall, and that victory went to Ron alone.

Hermione just gracefully placed her her clean plate off to the side of herself; she hastened to pick up the Daily Prophet in order to have something to distract herself with. She ignored Ron's indignant squawk and Harry's snort as she placed the Prophet - quite unsubtly, she might add - in front of her face in order to quiet down Ron's little rant that was aimed towards her.

"Honestly, 'Mione," stumbled Ron, his mouth obscenely full. "Ma dad says 'he old codger got ha'f of his ear blown off in 'he first war. It's not like he can hear us."

Hermione scrunched up her face behind the Prophet as she tried to decipher Ron's words, which were ridiculously jumbled. And she could hear Harry make a noise of question - and probably disgust - in the back of his throat as well. She just sighed and put down the Daily Prophet - which hadn't written anything on her lately, thankfully - as she levelled Ron with a firm glare.

"I still don't think it's wise to have a conversation about what we're planning to do when just about anyone can hear," tutted Hermione.

Harry nodded his head in approval and Ron looked faintly betrayed. He just huffed indignantly as he polished off the rest of his plateful; Harry had already finished and he was just leaning his head on one of his hands and surveying the Great Hall in a bored fashion. Hermione had taken the same action as Harry, and she just scourged the Great Hall with her chocolate eyes. She was faintly disappointed - and slightly confused as to why - that there was no sign of Fleur or Gabrielle. They hadn't been around much the last five days; initially, Hermione thought she might have done something wrong, and then she had chastened herself into thinking that she was _that _important to the Delacour sisters. She concluded that Maxime probably had Fleur training relentlessly; the Third Task was only four weeks away, after all.

But that hadn't deterred Hermione's curiosity in the slightest. Because that's all it was; it was curiosity intermingled with faint worry. She couldn't help but find it slightly odd, as well. Because whenever she had run into someone from the Beauxbaton's school, they had immediately recognized her; truthfully, that had been nothing new for weeks now. But this time it was different, and Hermione couldn't quite grasp why.

And the situation two days previous had left her even more confused.

_"I am so sorry!"_

_Hermione immediately bent down and began fumbling with the many books that now coated the corrider floor. She had been on her way back from the library; she had been looking over articles on Barty Crouch Jr. and how he possibly could have foiled the Marauder's Map with nothing but Polyjuice Potion. She had been in such a hurry to tell Harry and Ron of her discoveries that she had been considerably oblivious to her entire surroundings. This lead to her colliding into another body; Hermione had fallen to the floor and she heard a very feminine huff above her as she hastened to her feet and began grasping at the stranger's books wildly._

_She finally had all of the stranger's books together in an orderly fashion as she stood to her feet and awkwardly held them out for the person to take. Her eyes faintly widened when she noticed the blue Beauxbaton's uniform and the customary heels. The girl in question was about a good two inches on Hermione, and Hermione vaguely recalled having seen her talking to Fleur many a times. Her eyes were a pretty hazel, and her eyebrows - like all of the girls of Beauxbatons - were sculpted perfectly. She had an unboring shade of light brown as her hair colour, and her skin was almost as pale as Fleur's. The girl was admittedly very pretty, but like all of the other girls at Beauxbatons, she just seemed to naturally lack that presence that Fleur seemed to overall have._

_She didn't seem quite as stiff as Fleur, but her stance was still perfectly regal; she seemed to radiate a natural politeness that had lacked when it came to the other French girls._

_Her hazel eyes flickered in recognition, and one perfectly sculpted eyebrow was raised. She leaned out to except the books from a still shocked Hermione's hands. She perfectly placed them between her elbow and the jut of her slim hips; she never took her eyes off of Hermione. She looked as if she was scrutinizing her._

_"I recognize 'ou," she murmured. Her voice was lighter than Fleur's throaty one and her accent was slightly thicker. " 'Ou are zat 'Ermione Granger, non?"_

_Hermione's eyes widened briefly - even though she had previously seen the flicker of recognition - and she nodded her head slightly. Realizing she was being somewhat impolite, she justled her books with her one arm and she held out her hand for the girl to shake. The girl looked amused for the slightest second, before she too leaned forward and shook Hermione's hand._

_" 'Our ways of greeting 'ere still suprise me," the girl admitted, after she had taken her hand back and righted herself. The girl - who still hadn't given Hermione her name - leaned forward and gently pressed her lips to both of Hermione's cheeks in a very graceful and chaste fashion; Fleur had always lingered slightly, but it nevertheless suprised Hermione._

_The girl was still surveying Hermione slightly, and she felt as if she were being dissected and properly categorized; she didn't know why, but she thought she felt an aura of approval from the French girl, and it made her slightly satisfied, though she couldn't explain why. The girl looked Hermione up and down in a slow fashion, and Hermione felt her face flush unexpectedly._

_" 'Ou are pretty," nodded the girl. "Not stunning, but 'ou are good-looking."_

_Hermione's mouth opened, and she didn't know whether to accept the compliment or accept the insult. She chose the compliment._

_"Er, thank you," she muttered, as she weakly gestured in the opposite direction. "I was just going to find my friends -"_

_The French girl nodded slightly and she politely side-stepped; she was lightly smiling and inclining her head in that respectable manner that Fleur always had. Hermione walked by her nervously before turning around, still clutching her books to her chest and nodding slightly at the French girl. The girl in question seemed to know that Hermione wanted to say something._

_"I'm sorry about that, by the way," said Hermione, gesturing toward the girl's books. _

_The girl waved her hand gracefully. "Eet iz not a problem."_

_Hermione shot the girl one last smile before she began walking down the corrider, glancing down at her books briefly and trying to find the article that she had placed in her Ancient Runes book. She finally had gotten it and she placed it on top of the stack that she was currently holding in her arms. She knew that Harry and Ron would appreciate what she discovered, despite their small feud that was currently taking place. And she was currently re-skimming over the tops of the article that she had underlined and circled, when she felt the sudden clicking of heels approaching her from behind. She let out a gasp when a feminine hand grasped her elbow and whirled her around gently._

_The French girl was gazing at her intensely, and she reached down and grasped Hermione's hand and gently turned it upward so that she was surveying her palm. she gently traced the lines that connected on her palm, and the girl looked back up at Hermione after many brief moments of tense - and confusing - silence._

_"I can ze why zey both admire 'ou," she murmured, before dropping Hermione's hand gently and twirling around._

_Hermione could only stare with wide eyes and her palm still outstretched as the French girl strutted back down the hall as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. Hermione looked down at her palm and surveyed the quite boring - in her opinion, anyway - lines that overstretched and were interwoven together. Frankly, she couldn't even see anything remotely interesting about herself. And who was the girl talking about? Surely, she must be talking about Fleur and Gabrielle, because those were the only two that made logical sense, right?_

_But it still didn't stop Hermione from frowning in confusion; she refused to admit that her heart sped up slightly and that an odd feeling enveloped her at the French girl's words. Obviously she was going to be happy that Fleur and Gabrielle did like her as their friend. I mean, she had worked pretty hard at making them feel welcome and less isolated, so she should feel satisfied, right? It still didn't stop her from walking back towards the Gryffindor common room in a slight daze; Harry and Ron questioned her the rest of the night._

A plate clattered loudly in front of her and her gaze snapped toward Ron.

He just grinned sheepishly and gestured towards the front entrance of the Great Hall, and she was suprised to see Gabrielle Delacour stroll through - predictably - gracefully.

Her eyes widened slightly, because she hadn't seen much of the Delacour sisters this past week. She couldn't help but feel a bit of relief build up slowly in her stomach; her chest also blossomed happily with that familiar feeling of calmness and relaxation whenever she caught site of them.

Gabrielle was accompanied by two of the Beauxbaton girls - one of which Hermione dutifully recognized as the girl she encountered two days previous. Fleur was absent from the entourage - which slightly disappointed Hermione, because she was sincerely worried for her friend; but drawing from the protective aura around the girls, Gabrielle seemed fairly guarded. She just watched as Gabrielle seemingly scourged her eyes over the Great Hall - more like the Gryffindor table, to be more specific - as if searching for someone. Hermione felt a friendly smile overcome her face when the girl's pretty blue eyes found hers; they seemed to brighten spectacularly when they found Hermione's face. But she couldn't help but watch in slight shock as the girl seemingly ignored her two Beauxbaton's counterparts and shyly made her way towards Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

The two French girls that had accompanied her seemed to frown as they watched where Gabrielle's destination was. Hermione tried to keep the friendly smile on her face as one of the girl's tried to follow Gabrielle; shockingly, the odd one she had encountered previously had softly gripped the other girl's arm, shaking her head and motioning her head towards the Ravenclaw table. And, once more, Hermione could have _sworn _that the pretty French brunette winked at her indulgently. She just shook her head and turned to face Gabrielle, who was now politely gesturing at the empty seat by Hermione.

Hermione smiled and moved the book by her side as a sign of acquiscence.

Gabrielle smiled brightly and kissed her cheek as she gracefully descended on the bench next to Hermione; the brunette had the decency to move her empty plate out of the French girl's way; not without a sheepish smile, of course. But this seemed to make Gabrielle even more giggly, for some undescribable reason.

"Hello, Gabrielle," nodded Harry, always the polite one.

Ron was now eating some Treacle Tart - with a lot more control and etiquette, she might add - and watching Gabrielle with suprised hazel eyes, but he waved awkwardly at her and nodded. The younger Delacour smiled and waved back at him happily, which caused Ron to grin in return.

Ron finally seemed to swallow his food. "We haven' seen you much around these parts lately."

"Eet 'as been difficult ze last few days," sighed the blonde, sounding considerably forlorn. "My seester 'as been training for ze Third Task; our Madame 'as 'er quite prepared."

Hermione felt a swell of relief well up within her stomach once more; she knew she had been foolish for thinking that the Delacour sisters had not been present because of her. She couldn't help but feel a slight smidgeon of humiliation as well - as usual, when it pertained to these two - because of her obviously inflated ego; to honestly even contemplate that her presence effected them so much. Apparently being friends with the two had given her a complex; but then again, Hermione kind of always had a complex, because she was pretty sure that Harry and Ron probably wouldn't be alive right now if it wasn't for her.

But she was broken out of her thoughts by Harry wincing briefly; she wasn't a complete _dunce, _she knew he had probably put forth no effort into preparing for the Third Task. She couldn't help but roll her eyes and stare at him pointedly, which caused Gabrielle to laugh and Ron to snicker amusedly. Harry just flushed and mumbled something inscrutible, surveying the table with a keen eye.

"Preparation for any given event in the future - especially _life-threating events, _sounds quite _responsible_, don't you think, Harry?"

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Preparation is good."

Gabrielle and Ron's laughter seemed to grow; Hermione couldn't quite keep the smile off of her face as Harry mumbled a couple of excuses, before pointedly darting off the bench - his excuse was the Defense Against the Dark Art's essay that needed completion - and making his way out of the Great Hall. Ron just ran his hand through his shaggy mop of fire and shook his head. Hermione decidedly scoffed at his hypocrisy.

"Like you're any more responsible, Ronald," she droned.

Ron simply shrugged. "At least I can admit to it." He looked triumphant when Gabrielle giggled at Hermione's glare.

"Yes, Ron," she snorted. "Please do carry on with your intelligent and inspirational work-ethic and continue to set a _wonderful _example to younger wizarding community."

Gabrielle just continuously looked amused as Ron huffed indignantly and stood up; he pompously thrusted his chin high in the air as he grabbed his knapsack. Hermione had to hide a grin as Ron walked away from the table self-righteously, turning around and sniffing at Hermione ocsassionally.

Gabrielle just waved at him in goodbye, causing him to smirk triumphantly at Hermione and wave back at the giggling girl. Hermione rolled her eyes good-naturedly and shot the French girl a warm smile as the girl turned back and looked at her. The young French beauty gestured toward the remaing plates of food in front of them and the brunette smiled and grabbed her an empty plate from the center.

And for the next few minutes, things were rather silent. It wasn't an awkward or fidgeting type of scenario; there seemed to be a genuine peace that Hermione could never quite fully feel with Harry and Ron. Gabrielle would eat silently - with a poise that Hermione especially welcomed - and glance to make sure that the brunette was alright with the silence between the two of them. And Hermione would look up from her Daily Prophet reading and smile reassuringly at the much younger girl; who was wise beyond her years, admittedly. It was rather nice; it as also rather annoying, because it was quite typical that one of the very few people that Hermione actually could tolerate wasn't even from this school.

But Hermione had accepted her bad luck in just about every field - besides her pristine grades, of course - and every scenario.

Gabrielle seemed to finish and she daintily dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin.

Hermione put down the Daily Prophet and smiled. "I'm glad that you and Fleur are alright. I was beginning to get worried that you two had flown back to France."

Gabrielle grinned. "And not zay goodbye to 'ou, 'Ermione? Zat would never 'appen."

Hermione just shook her head and put down the Daily Prophet, observing the way that Gabrielle's face had taken a serious edge. The blue eyes that captivated many - even more so on her older sister - just surveyed her; the French witch look unsure of how to address a certain subject, but at the same time seemed confident of the outcome. The brunette just smiled encouragingly, making sure to show the French beauty that she had her complete attention concerning this mysterious subject.

"Our Muzzer iz coming for ze final task," she began, clasping her manicured fingers together. "And she wants to meet 'ou."

Hermione's eyebrows rose in suprise, and she was about to question about how Gabrielle's mother knew of her; the girl in question hastened to explain.

"Fleur 'as explained everyzing to 'er," said Gabrielle, looking at Hermione with what seemed like hope. "Ze Veela race iz very proud. Please just let 'er give 'ou praise without question."

Hermione sighed and glanced down at the table; she didn't want Gabrielle to see her doubts, though the girl already seemed like she could. In all honesty, the brunette was a little exhausted from the praise she had been endlessly receiving from everyone on a daily bases. And the fact that this was the Delacour matriarch didn't help settle her nerves at all. Fleur herself was as intimidating as they come, and she was quite sure that her mother was on a completely different level when it came to power. She just lifted her head and tried to give Gabrielle a smile that clearly didn't reach her eyes.

The blonde had leaned forward and encompassed Hermione's hands in hers, looking at her with a look that screamed that familiar adoration. Her blue eyes were bright and her lip was caught in-between both of her teeth; she looked as if she were in some type of daze for the briefest moment, but she quickly snapped out of it when she noticed Hermione's furrowed brow.

"Fleur and I care about 'ou," she murmured. "My muzzer iz incredibly difficult at first, but she knows zat we are 'our friends and zat 'ou 'ave been nuzzing but wonderful since our arrival. Believe me when I zay zat she will be nuzzing but eternally grateful for everyzing zat 'ou 'ave done for us...for _me."_

Hermione released a breath and nodded. "As long as she gives proper thanks to Harry as well. He helped just as much as I did, if not more so."

Gabrielle nodded. "She will. She 'as 'eard about 'Arry as well and she iz intending to give 'im proper praise."

Hermione sighed and nodded her head in acquiscence, causing the youngest Delacour to smile at her in happiness and clap her hands together. Hermione felt a warm feeling blossom when she realized that she was the one that made Gabrielle so happy. She held a fondness for the young French witch that she couldn't quite explain; she knew it was rather soon to be thinking like this, but she felt that if she had to choose anyone to be her younger sibling throughout these entire grounds, it would most likely be Gabrielle. She adored Ginny, but the vast differences between the two of them just made her feel like what she actually was - a good friend. Plus, the fiery red-head could most definitely take care of herself; and despite Gabrielle's startling maturity and poise, she was still young and slightly fragile.

But then a question had popped into Hermione's mind and she voiced it before she could properly stop herself.

"What about your father?"

Gabrielle looked at her with suprised eyes but then she looked slightly sad. "Muzzer said 'e couldn't make eet. 'E works for ze French Ministry, so 'e iz quite busy at times."

Hermione nodded her head. "So your mother is the Veela in you family, correct?"

Gabrielle quirked her eyebrow up - as if wondering how Hermione knew this - and she nodded in confirmation. Hermione herself glanced down at the table, wondering if she wanted to ask her next question; she rally didn't want to push her boundaries with certain information, but that familiar craving for knowledge had blossomed once more.

"When...when did your mother realize that your father was her mate?"

The French blonde quirked her eyebrows up in slight bewilderment, but there seemed to be a flash of understanding in her eyes after a slight period of hesitance. She unclasped her hands and turned to face Hermione completely on the bench; Hermione knew this was no light subject that had been - in her case - thoughtlessly brought to the surface.

"My muzzer doesn't 'ave a mate."

Hermione's brow furrowed in obvious confusion.

"I take eet 'ou 'ave been reading on ze Veela customs?"

Hermione flushed slightly and she gave a weak nod of confirmation; Gabrielle didn't seem to be offended in the slightest, she actually seemed as if it was an inevitable conversation. The English witch was quite grateful that the younger girl seemed more open than Fleur, because she just knew that Fleur would immediately close off and begin to drift - like she did in conversations with just about everyone. And Hermione Granger did _not _want that at all. She felt like she was already walking on a freefall line with the older Delacour; she didn't want to fall and ruin everything. Hermione would recall the dramatic irony much later in her life.

" 'Ou will find zat ze books tend to over-exaggerate," shrugged Gabrielle, one of her hand airily waving in front of her.

Hermione frowned. "Over-exaggerate what?"

Gabrielle smirked. "Everyzing. A Veela 'asn't 'ad a mate for 'undreds of years. Eet 'as only 'appened once in ze last century."

A part of Hermione wanted to argue with the younger witch over the accuracy of books, because she had always found that books and the knowledge written in them wouldn't have been written at all if it wasn't completely accurate, right? She would let the Gilderoy Lockhart situtation slide; but nonetheless, the books that contained the timeless information that Hermione has always held close to her heart still wanted to make her object.

"I read that a Veela tends to take several 'mates' at once," she murmured, rather hesitantly in all honesty.

Gabrielle seemed to flush unexpectedly; the rosy hue to her porcelain cheeks vastly standing out; beautifully, Hermione admitted to herself. Gabrielle nearly ducked her head in her embarrassment, and that startled Hermione because she hadn't seen Gabrielle like this since the first week after the Second Task.

"Veela are -," she seemed to be searching for the right words, and she was flushing even more so, " -very sexual creatures, so zey are known for taking several lovers at a time."

Now even Hermione felt embarrassed for the younger Delacour; there was no doubt that the girl had Veela blood in her - if only slightly - and that it would inevitably apply to her in the future as well. Gabrielle opened her mouth and closed it a couple of times; the brunette would never admit to finding this slightly amusing. Because she liked seeing Gabrielle - and Fleur even more so - act embarrased and act like they didn't swim in snobbishness like most people general seemed to think upon their first impressions of them.

Hermione's lips quirked. "I think that's quite common in just about every place, in all honesty."

Gabrielle blushed harder.

"I bet Fleur really pulls them in by the handful," she continued, but then her eyes widened quickly. "Not that Fleur is _promiscuous_ or anything like that. I just bet she has lines of people waiting for an opportunity."

Gabrielle instantly nodded her agreement, and Hermione knew that she was in no way exaggerating the popularity that Fleur had with the males. She is quite sure that she's seen a female's head turn a couple of rounds when Fleur has walked past, too. Or maybe a couple of females.

Gabrielle seemed to really want to say something; she was actually mashing her lips and running her knuckles - somehow looking graceful while doing so - over the brim of her nose. Her blonde hair whipped slightly as she turned her head away from Hermione, and the brunette realized that while Gabrielle seemed to really want to say this mysterious secret, that she probably shouldn't. Hermione forced herself to quell her burning curiosity and be honourable.

"I bet Fleur has nothing to worry about, though," she hastened. "The boys at our school definitely won't make a lasting impression."

"Non," she heard faintly.

/

/

_The Whomping Willow(3/4th's of the way): 9:37 PM. _

"This is the most idiotic thing they have possibly _ever _done! Honestly!"

Hermione kicked the grass angrily as a grinning Fred and George shushed her quietly.

She normally would be reading by the fire comfortably at this time at night, but _no._ Harry really had this _brilliant _plan to go the whole nine yards. After they had put in a quick favor to Peeves - that Hermione wasn't even at liberty to discuss with anyone, ever - and had guilt-tripped Fred and George into helping them, they had finally gotten their hands on the time-table. The time-table that listed every single teacher that patrolled and at what time. And after Fred and George had provided the proper distraction for Moody to investigate - she wasn't going to be discussing that, either - for a certain period of time, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had snuck in his office and tried to locate the Marauder's Map. They failed; they failed completely. And now they were here.

They had arrived at the Whomping Willow.

"_Immobulus," _she whispered.

The tree instantly stopped its hazardous movements, and the Weasley twins turned and gave Hermione a wink and a thumbs up. She responded with an irritated scowl.

After failing to locate the map, they had contacted Fred and George and had told them of their plan; Harry's plan to be more specific. They had discussed at where Crouch was going at night, because even though he had patrolled inside of the castle, he would start disappearing off of the map for an hour or so. And you couldn't apparate off of Hogwart's grounds, so he must be meeting someone somewhere close by. That's when they had seen him - from a fairly safe distance away - go into the Whomping Willow.

And the Whomping Willow led into the Shrieking Shack; it was less than a quarter-mile on the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

Harry was convinced that he was meeting Voldemort, or at least a death-eater. She honestly couldn't understand Harry's logic; not only did he want to follow Crouch into the Shrieking Shack to see who he was meeting, but they also wanted to see if they could somehow get tangible proof that Moody wasn't really Moody and that he was the one that put his name into the Goblet of Fire. Hermione tried endlessly to convince him to just tell Dumbledore, but Harry's curiosity just had absolutely no bounds at all. Harry wanted to know who his cohert was so that they could turn the both of them in.

_"We should just TELL Dumbledore!"_

_"No," he shook his head. "Not until we find out who Crouch is talking to. That person could of been the one to put my name in the Goblet, Hermione. We need to know what they're planning."_

_"Use your head, Harry! I would much rather turn Crouch in and have Dumbledore do an investigation. This is completely ludacris and you know it is! Dumbledore would not rest until he would find Crouch's accomplice. And I would rather have one person after you with Dumbledore's protection than two."_

_"I'd rather have no one after him," interrupted Ron._

_Harry sighed. "And when have the faculty ever truly listened to us, Hermione? Never! We've always had to learn stuff and save everyone on our own. We have the chance to find out what they're planning to do to me, and what Voldemort's planning to do. Do you really think we would have the honest chance of capturing them or knowing what's going on if Dumbledore knew or if it was broadcasted? No! We're just gonna listen in, that's all."_

_"Why must you be so complicated, Harry?" She was genuinely exhausted with her best friend. "Why can't we do the simple thing, for once? Just grab the map and tell Dumbledore?"_

_Harry didn't answer her, instead he grabbed Fred and George's Invisibility Booster Pills and put them into his pocket after promptly swallowing one._

_"Unless you think that it could possibly be Pettigrew. Otherwise, you really wouldn't be doing this yourself."_

_"He got away once, Hermione. This time we have the advantage and the chance for suprise. If we could uncover and prove it's him and that Moody is fake, then Sirius..."_

_He just shook his head; there was that customary intensity in his eyes that only rarely made its presence known. The night he faced Pettigrew in third year was one of them, and it seemed to happen the more Rita Skeeter wrote articles slandering Sirius Black in the absolute worst way. It was scary, and it was more than frightening at how vengeful Harry truly was. But all she could do is shake her head and watched with a bitter detachment as Harry and Ron slowly faded from view. She just shook her head and followed them down the stone pathway, where the only real proof that her best friends were real was by the rubble that crunched under their feet. She reluctantly waved at Fred and George._

_"Don't do anything stupid," she grit out, as she walked away from the two and towards the two pranksters, who looked far too excited for her liking._

Hermione just shook her head and and took her planned arrangement at the large bush that covered her from view. She was on the right side of the Whomping Willow, and she was about a forty foot difference. Fred and George, after making sure that Harry and Ron were okay and that their pills weren't faulty - Hermione was horrified that that hadn't even tested them out on the first years, which she wasn't promoting, by the way - before tracking their way unto the other side of the castle. They had promised to alert anyone if the Trio hadn't arrived back within the hour, and Hermione couldn't help but feel a type of morbid amusement.

_'At least someone might discover us missing,' _she thought, snorting.

Since she wasn't planning to follow them for another few ticks, she just sighed and carefully sat down on the grass. She tried to push the anger at her friends and her own stress away. She just looked past the Whomping Willow, and she surveyed the Beauxbaton's carriage that was beautifully resting on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. She just tried to take in the amazing structure that consisted of archs and Vanilla paint; she was torn between thinking about Fleur and what she was currently doing and the danger of what Harry and Ron could be facing. Which reminded her...

She glanced down at the watch, and it had been fifteen minutes. It was time to go. She slowly rose to her feet and she took out the Invisibility Pill - she was still rather dubious as to whether she might not have pink feathers sprout out of her buttocks - and downed it quickly. To her relief she was fading quickly, and she carefully stepped out of the bushes. She just hoped that she didn't walk into an ambush of some sort; she prayed that Harry and Ron weren't captured. But that's what she was doing, she was making sure they were alright.

But just as she was heading toward the entrance, she was interrupting by the sound - faint, mind you - of a door opening; that, and loud French curses. The voice was easily recognizeable. It made her pause at the entrance as she noticed and angry Fleur ranting at Maxime; her eyes seemed as if they were tinted red, and her nails almost seemed longer. They were walking towards the Forbidden Forest with their wands drawn, and Hermione found her feet moving towards them before she could truly stop herself. She followed them past the fading lights of the Beauxbaton carriage, and she followed the blue lights of their wands deep into the forest.

She couldn't understand what they were saying, and it was irritating beyond belief. She just gritted her teeth as she carefully and soundlessly moved her feet over the astray twigs; she was ducking behind trees even though she was literally invisible to the eye...currently. They suddenly stopped, and Hermione carefully watched.

Maxime now had her large hands on Fleur's shoulder's, as if restraining her.

It was quite chilling to notice how wicked and brightly intense Fleur's _red _eyes were. And she was breathing so heavy that Hermione thought she could be mistaken for having a heart attack.

"Calm down, my child," roared Maxime, and Fleur was transforming. Her nails were growing several inches long, and black feathers had begun growing out of Fleur's arms and midsection. Her hair was still blonde, and Hermione couldn't help but think about how it beautifull clashed with Fleur's black feathers. She had only grown about two inches, making her even more modelesque. She didn't know why Fleur was in this form; she sounded angry, and Hermione could swear she recalled that Veela transform when feeling too strong of emotions.

_'Obviously, Granger,' _she chided herself.

Fleur only looked partly transformed, so Hermione concluded that it was just part of her quarter-Veela heritage. Bud the beautiful creature looked like it was hurting, and it seemed to release all anger and moved swiftly into sadness. Maxime was seemingly comforting the girl, and the brunette had no clue as to what could set the girl off like this.

And that's when it happened.

Her watch beeped. The hour was up.

That couldn't be though. It felt like a mere ten minutes that she had followed them into the forest. Had time really stood still like that? Or had she been so fascinated with the literal Veela that fascination had taken over logic and time? All she knew was that she needed to run; run, because although she was invisible, the Veela's eyes were boring into her and she was coming closer.

Hermione ran.

She thought she heard a roar as she took off, with branches snapping and dirt bellowing to her sides as she ran for her life. The Veela was a fair distance behind her, but Fleur or whatever it was, was _chasing _her. Her silver hair whipping and her effortless leaps over the four foot high stumps on the ground. Hermione ran and ran; she saw the Beauxbaton lights and she heard roaring and she just watched as the Whomping Willow regained its mobility. Her sides were burning and her legs automatically stopped and nearly gave out as she clutched her chest and breathed deeply. She could watch with scared and confused eyes as silver hair snapped back around as Fleur darted back into the forest.

Hermione told herself that she really needed to read more about Veela. Accurate or not, she would get the general gist of it.

That's when she yelped loudly.

A powerful hand clasped her shoulder, and to her horror she turned around to face 'Mad-Eye Moody.'

His eye was darting at her crazily, and red flags were screaming throughout Hermione's brain. He scowled heavily at her, and she didn't know whether to act natural or scream; her wand was in her back pocket, if she could just reach it. But then he opened his mouth and she instantly froze.

"Granger," he grunted. "What'r you doin' out here this time of night; in the Forbidden Forest, no less?"

She was so stiff that it should have hinted that she was terrified of him. And her throat was so dry that she almost starting choking on her own spittle. She hastily wiped her hands on her jumper, and tried to put on her most convincing voice. If this man wanted Harry in this tournament until the end, then he would appreciate all of the help Harry was getting.

"Training," she burst out. "I've been helping Harry so that he'll win the tournament, sir."

He looked panicked for the briefest moment. "Is Potter around?"

"N-no, sir," she said quickly, catching on. "He went back up to the castle a little while ago. I just thought I saw an angry centaur is all, so I ran."

He just eyed her intimidatingly for the longest while, and she did her best to hold her ground and her gaze. He finally released his death grip on her shoulder and nodded; she released a shaky breath and gave her best attempt at a smile as she began to trudge backward toward the stone pathway. He just watched her go and shouted for her to make sure to help Harry as much as possible to win the tournament. She just nodded her head and kept walking backward toward the stone pathway. There was no way that she would turn her back on him. That was, until she collided with another body; a much taller, slimmer body.

She grunted and turned around; her eyes widened in horror when she noticed Professor Snape. and he was holding onto the elbows of Harry and Ron. Luckily, Crouch was already gone.

"Your recent adventures have continued to suprise me, Miss Granger," Snape silkily commented. "But what suprises me even more is that, oddly enough, there has been no punishment for your recent little rule-bending change of attitude. "

Harry and Ron were dirty and scowling heavily, and Snape seemed to be genuinely smug.

"How about I be fair and remove a hundred points each -"

_BOOM!_

Hermione shrieked as loud fireworks burst into the air; Snape had let go of Harry and Ron and he was now looking considerably raging as red fireworks aligned with mischevious comments danced into the sky. Hermione was going to throttle Fred and George when she saw them next, because this was _not _a fitting distraction of the faculty patrolling the grounds. She just watched as a lot of the Beauxbaton's students carefully came out of their carriage with looks of confusion as they noticed the fireworks raging in the sky. She just put her hands on her face and groaned; they were drawing quite an audience, and Snape whirled on them in an absolute fury.

"I know this was one of your shenanigans, Potter! Just like your father -"

"It wasn't me," Harry snarled over the loud boom echoing over the grounds.

_SNAPE IS A GIT!_

Hermione shook her head as the fireworks disappeared after that final parting insult toward Snaoe. Just great; Fred and George couldn't have picked a better time to insult Snape. He whirled on the three of them, and Harry was looking at him with so much hate that Hermione had to put a hand on his elbow. She watched as the Beauxbaton's girls went back into their carriage, and she was so relieved that Moody hadn't of shown up; he would have known that Harry and Ron would have been out on the grounds and that she lied. But still, the situation could have ended differently, so she was slightly thankful.

"You three!" He was snarling. "The Headmaster will know about this, and you should be on the train home, tonight."

"_Oh, shite,"_ groaned Ron. "Mum's going to _kill _me."

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Next Chapter Preview: Howlers(Well isn't this fun)/I Wanna Know(Even More)/Lotus Flower

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**So...I hope people still follow this. Lol.**


	4. Chapter 4

Wow. It has been quite awhile hasn't it, everyone?

I would first and foremost like to apologize about the ridiculously long wait for this chapter. But Clinicals and my other job came back and bit me in the snobber with a vengeance. But hopefully the length of this chapter somewhat makes up for it. And all mistakes are mine in this chapter; in this entire fic, to be perfectly honest. No Beta, and on top of that I'm afraid I've become a little rusty. So I apologize for any grammar mistakes.

**Actual AN: **I have read over all of the reviews and I am exceptionally flattered. I'm glad everyone likes this, for the most part. And after a few people pointed out some mistakes that have occured, it actually reminded me. Because It's been quite awhile since I've read any of the Harry Potter books; except the more recent ones, obviously. But I am going to use these minor mistakes and try and add a different approach to everything. I just hope it works out.

_And I also apologize about the lack of Fleur last chapter. I just feel that Hermione's first priority would be her friends above her confusing friendship with the Delacour sisters. It just seems more realistic to me; also seeing as how JK Rowling made sure that Hermione still stuck at the mission at hand instead of chasing after Ron when he left in DH. Like I said before, this is Hermione-centric/Trio and the romance will eventually make itself a large part of the story. But for now, the build-up! But Fleur will be in this chapter quite regularly, so enjoy. And I promise, this is Hermione/Fleur. It will __NOT__ be Hermione/Fleur/Gabrielle. __Or__ Hermione/Fleur/Someone else. I think. _

_And this chapter is slow, so I apologize for that._

_Reviews and opinions welcome, as always._

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_Howlers(Well Isn't This Fun)/I Wanna Know(Even More)/Lotus Flower_

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_The Great Hall: 12:16 PM. 2 Days after The Whomping Willow._

"I thin' we actually got outta'it quite well."

Hermione's lips pursed at Ron over the crinkled up Daily Prophet; her knuckles were becoming an even more ghostly white. Every time he brought up their actions two days ago - which he had been doing mindlessly the last five minutes - and the resulting consequences, she was quickly on her way to a complete and utter _breakdown._ Harry seemed to sense this and kept giving her considerably worried glances, but Ron just continued on obliviously and obnoxiously; gloating, for lack of a better term. It was driving her painstakingly _mad;_ she was pretty sure her cheeks were a violent shade of red that probably matched said counter-part's hair.

She was accustomed to breaking at least fifty school rules a year; it would just be odd if they _didn't._ But Hermione also reasoned to herself that this only occurred when there was absolutely no choice in the matter; it was their lives on the line, if not the entire Hogwart's population. But what had happened two days ago was just a poor lack of judgement on Harry and Ron's part. And even hers for allowing all of those ridiculous mishaps to even trapse forth! She admitted regretfully to herself that not even she could have stopped the two, but she could have at least tried harder. Hermione was nothing if not disciplined; most of the time, anyway.

And the one part of the time where she wasn't, well, there were certainly consequences; also tangled beautifully with humiliation and annoyance.

_"Honestly, Severus! Expulsion?" McGonagall's gaze was narrowed at her rival head-of-house, clearly fuming. _

_Snape's lips were curled up in a sneer, and he seemed to recall his fellow Hogwart's teacher with amusement. Dumbledore, suprisingly, had chosen to remain completely silent as the argument in front of him became even more fierce by his fellow Lion and Snake; his frayed and aging hands were crossed daintily in front of him, and he seemed to regard the two with a slight frown. _

_Hermione could feel Harry twitching in anticipation next to her, and Ron was full out scuffling his feet and watching the argument with wide eyes. A part of her could see the way Albus Dumbledore's eyes - while echoing an almost nonexistent frustration at his two teachers - would occasionally grace over the three of them; a part of her knew that everything was going to be alright. Maybe it was the peace surrounding the silver-bearded Headmaster; it could possibly be the almost fondness when he looked over at the three of them, with his blue eyes producing a faint twinkle and his chin raising slightly. She could have sworn she noticed his lips briefly twitch._

_"Maybe if you kept your students in line, Minerva -"_

_"Severus." And just like that, the two arguing voices quieted upon hearing Dumbledore's quiet - but powerful - tone._

_Dumbledore now had his fingers interwoven, and he was peering over the thin rims of his glasses. Snape just crossed his arms, pursing his thin lips together; there was an almost air of respect around Snape whenever Albus Dumbledore was present, and especially when the man spoke. Hermione always found herself befuddled and beyond curious; she doubted Harry and Ron noticed these almost imperceptive things like she did. But then again, everyone had that similiar state of mind around Dumbledore; he made you feel like you were merely a weakling in his powerful presence, but at the same time he gazed at you like you were anything but weak. It was as disconcerting as it was inspiring._

_"I believe expulsion is a little harsh considering how minor the circumstances," murmured Albus, his voice prim yet nothing but kind._

_Snape actually stumbled over his next words as his arms uncrossed. "Minor circumstances, Dumbledore? I found Potter and Weasley in the Shrieking Shack as well as Miss Granger coming out of -"_

_Dumbledore unlocked his fingers and raised one of his hands, immediately silencing Severus, who looked like Dumbledore had sprouted two heads; a trace of bitterness was there as well. And McGonagall had raised her chin up at Snape, knowing that Albus would never let it get as far as an expulsion; it was a victory for her, but then again, Dumbledore always had been almost annoyingly fair to every student at Hogwarts. It made the aging woman proud that she was his right-hand woman._

_" - And I understand that perfectly Severus," the Headmaster nodded. "There will be punishment, so do not fret."_

_Snape snorted and droned out, "With all do respect Headmaster, your forms of punishment are perhaps...a bit too accommodating?"_

_Albus Dumbledore pushed a heavily wrinkled finger upon the nose of his glasses, gently peering over the top of them once more. His blue eyes did not falter whatsoever in their twinkling, but Hermione thought she detected a hint of warning in Dumbledore's eyes. His raised a thick silver eyebrow at Snape, who seemed to release an almost inaudible sigh of defeat. _

_The former Slytherin just sent one final look at the three of them still huddled in the corner, before turning around and sweeping out of the office in a swift pace; the bottom of his cloaked billowed and swept elegantly behind the silently raging man as he shut the door to Dumbledore's office with a firm slam._

_Hermione felt Harry's sweaty grip on her hand immediately drop. She had been so caught up in everything that was happening that she hadn't even realized he had grabbed it. She could see him looking plenty relieved in the corner of her eye; she was not ready to look at him directly yet, because she doesn't believe she honestly could without storming off or blurting out something to Dumbledore that Harry would never trust her again with. She kept her lips sealed and her gaze on the Headmaster, trying not to roll her eyes at Ron's ecstatic grin out of the corner of her other eye._

_"You three just cannot seem to stay out of trouble."_

_Hermione's breathing hitched at Dumbledore's words._

_He was looking at them with no malice or anger on his face, but more like defeat. She thought she detected brief amusement as well. But he seemed to slowly rise from his chair, ever so slowly coming to walk around his desk. After about a minute of staring at the Headmaster in stunned silence, he finally stood in front of the three of them._

_"I will leave the punishment to Professor McGonagall," he nodded towards her. "But I hope that the next time this happens, you realize that I cannot protect you every time this occurs."_

_She could feel Ron slump his shoulders to the right of her; she felt the complete opposite from Harry at her left side; he had tensed his entire body. She summed up all of her courage and looked flinchingly into Dumbledore's eyes as he surveyed them quietly. He met her eyes dead on, before his eyes flickered briefly over Harry's form._

_"And always remember - " he continued, peering at the three of them over his moon glasses, his eyes straying towards Harry. " - that if you ever wish...to tell me something, that I will most certainly listen."_

_Hermione only barely restrained from her eyes widening exponentially, a feat that Ron failed to do as he stuttered. Hermione elbowed him as discreetly as possible. And she surveyed the frightening clench in Harry's jaw; his emerald eyes were burning in what one could only describe as fear, and he seemed to know this as he glanced away quickly from Dumbledore's probing gaze and nodded his head briefly at the not-convinced Headmaster. But as the old man in flaming red robes crossed back over to his desk after giving a nod to McGonagall, she knew that the trouble hadn't even started yet._

_McGonagall gave them a stern glare as she ushered them quickly from the office; the stony silence only continued down the halls of Hogwarts as they came near the portrait of the Fat Lady, who immediately shrunk under the firm eyes of the Headmistress. The aging woman crossed her arms in front of her, shaking her head in a barely controlled manner while taking a deep breath._

_"You three will serve detention with me for the next four weeks in my office -" her eyes narrowed dangerously at a groaning Ron Weasley, " - for twice a week."_

_Hermione grit her teeth and looked down at the ground so she didn't throttle Harry and Ron, because this was most certainly cutting into her investigation of Fleur, helping Harry with the competition, and precious study time. She was going to kill them after they fell asleep later on in the night. She was gonna make them pay and wish they had slept with one eye open because she was Hermione Granger and she was pissed the sodding hell off._

_" -And I do not know what is happening with you three, but I suggest you sort it all out. Between Miss Granger diving into lakes and shooting grindelows miles into the air along with Mr. Potter -"_

_The brunette could feel a little bit of red infuse her cheeks at this point._

_" - Competing in this tournament not meant for fourth years, I just do not what to do with you three anymore."_

_Ron opened his mouth, looking at Professor McGonagall with an almost pout on his face; Hermione found herself completely apalled by him. But he was looking hopefully at Professor McGonagall, whose gaze had become even more stern at him; she almost looked hopeless._

_"And you too, Mr. Weasley," she snapped at him, watching as his face brightened at the recognition. "For just being...well, your lack of disciplinary self."_

So no one could really blame her for giving the stiff shoulder to both Harry and Ron.

Not to mention Fred and George, because they had not helped that situation at all; they kept sending her apologetic looks whenever they could, which have lead to several eye-rolls on her part. She just honestly wasn't in the mood to deal with any of the Weasley's at this point in time; even poor Ginny, who couldn't help who she was related to.

It's just the stress of dealing with Barty Crouch Jr. always keeping a suspicious eye on the three of them, among her confusing interactions with the Delacour sisters and just about any girl that was wearing a Beauxbaton's uniform nowadays; it was starting to affect her sleeping habits and her moods drastically. She had actually doodled in Professor Binn's class yesterday. Doodled! And when Ron had gone to copy her notes from the lesson he had looked at her as if he had never seen her before when she told him that she honestly hadn't taken any notes.

And it most certainly hadn't helped that last night was the first detention that the three had to participate in. Hermione had been given the wonderous duty of polishing all of the trophies for Gryffindor house...without a wand. She swore that if she polished one more bloody golden Gryffindor Lion, then she was transfering houses. And it didn't help that Harry and Ron got the incredibly challenging duties of just sitting there and bitching about why they were there in the first place. She loved her boys to death, but recently she had been ready to hex them into a complete oblivion that not even Dumbledore could arise them from.

She huffed and tossed down her Daily Prophet with a bit more roughness than necessary.

"That's easy for you to say, _Ronald Weasley._ I have quite a vivid memory of you doing absolutely nothing while _I _was the one polishing trophies."

He seemed to shrink back on the bench at her fierce gaze; his face was slightly pale and it made his freckles stand out even more so. Harry winced in his seat next to Ron, looking at Hermione apologetically while eating a small portion of his porridge. At least the smaller teen had enough experience - with her flaming temper, of course - and wisdom to stay quiet and not try to outright defend himself, which his red-headed counterpart was attempting. At least Harry had the knowledge that arguing back with Hermione when she actually was correct only infuriated the girl even more.

Ron shook his head balefully. "Im'a just sayin' it coulda been worse, Hermione. We coulda actually been expelled."

"We shouldn't have even been in that situation in the first place! It just proves that you two can't think things through -"

"_Cor, _Hermione! But everything seems 'ta' be fine and dandy when _you _go aroun' breakin' the rules!"

"Harry's almost _drowned _you inconsiderate prat! What would you have had me done? Just sit there with the rest of Hogwarts and watch my two best friends drown because -"

Harry just continually watched the two go back and forth with wide eyes; he looked more than a little frightened when Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to come to Ron's defenses. She could faintly notice - when Ron wasn't waving his hands in the air like a wild and uncultured baboon - that they were drawing a fair bit of attention from the Great Hall at how loud their argument was getting. She noticed Harry seemed to realize the same thing as he instantly lurched forward onto the bench.

"_Enough!" _He hissed it loudly and emphatically, causing Hermione to pause in the middle of her sentence.

Ron's hands froze from where they had been gesturing wildly. He looked around the Great Hall slowly and seemed to deflate in his seat slightly; she snorted when his cheeks and ears became a flaming magenta that easily rivaled his hair. Hermione looked at Harry gratefully, who nodded his head and began to send warning glares at the many students watching.

The brunette just latched onto the Daily Prophet - who suprisingly hadn't written any articles of her as of late - to quell her raging temper and mask her slight discomfort. She just took a deep breath as she idly turned the page and continuously ignored her surroundings.

A part of her could see Fleur's questioning blue eyes and she tried to mask herself further into the temperamental - and horribly inaccurate - newspaper.

She had seen Fleur as soon as she had walked into the Great Hall; she honestly didn't know when her first priority had become to immediately seek out the French witch. It confused her and she tried to reason that she just wanted to make sure the silver-haired woman was alright. She hadn't seen Beauxbaton champion since that night; she could remember the wails of the creature, and those hypnotic - yet frightening - red eyes bore into her even though she had been in the invisibility cloak. She could remember the twigs snapping and her panting breaths as she had run as fast as she could from the Veela; she had been terrified and she didn't deny it. She didn't know if Fleur was aware of her surroundings when she transformed into her Veela form; it seemed like Fleur hadn't been aware of anything except her own agony. And while a part of her was still admittedly wary of the French girl, she also felt a blossoming pain in her chest for her friend.

From the way Fleur smiled and talked to a few of her Beauxbaton classmates, everything seemed to be fine. But now Hermione knew better. There was something deeper; it was digging at the French witch and causing her to actually change on school grounds, and no one but Maxime - and possibly Gabrielle - seemed to be none the wiser. She had only skimmed briefly over the Veela book and it only mentioned a Veela changing if its mate - or one of them - were in danger or if the Veela itself were scared and completely overwhelmed with emotions.

And the book then mentioned that it was rarely the latter.

So Hermione knew that it must have been something horrible for the French girl to turn into her Veela. Because according to Gabrielle, there hadn't been any Veelas with a mate over the past century; it made her afraid for her friend. It also made her completely curious as to why Fleur had been feeling such strong emotions that she had turned. And Hermione remembered that the French girl had been only partly transformed; an incomplete transformation, if you will. It had been stuck in her head for the past day now and unable to make its way out.

She hadn't even realized that she had now discarded the Daily Prophet and was now surveying Fleur quite openly.

The French witch in question received a gentle nudge to her shoulder by her friend; Hermione quickly recognized her as that mysterious Beauxbaton girl who had read her palm and had been accompanying Gabrielle over Hogwart's grounds. The brunette Beauxbaton had raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at Hermione and nudged Fleur once more, who finally turned to her.

Hermione felt her face flush when Fleur turned towards her direction - after a subtle head gesture from her friend - and met her gaze head on.

Fleur's eyes were boring into her own, and there was a friendly smile starting to grow upon her flawless face. Hermione's breath hitched briefly as she imagined magenta eyes replacing the stunning blues; she could see the feathers on the French witch's arms extending up towards her neck. She could see the veins in Fleur's neck and hear her wailing in agony; she could still hear the twigs snapping and Maxim's commanding roar as she ran as fast as she could. She hadn't even realized that she was breathing heavily now, her palms sweating against the tabletop as the bright sunshine of the Great Hall replaced the Forbidden Forest that she had ventured into deep inside her memory.

Fleur's smile had completely faltered now, and pure worry was etched upon her features; her blue eyes reflected unparalleled fear.

Hermione realized that she must have looked completely terrified, because Ron was looking at her with his brows furrowed and Harry was grabbing her hand from across the table. She felt as if she were being pulled from a vortex; Hogwarts and everyone came back into focus, where they had previously been just blurry figures. It was odd seeing everyone converse and eat happily as if nothing dark had come upon them.

Hermione inwardly groaned when she realized that she was probably going completely nutters. Better reserve her a spot at St. Mungo's in the insane ward.

She exhaled shakily, "I'm fine, Harry. Just nervous about this Ancient Runes exam."

Ron snorted, but she noticed he looked significantly relieved. He gently knicked the remaining tart of her plate - after her distracted nod of approval - and ate silently; he would occassionally look up at her as if to reassure himself that she was actually alright. No such luck with Harry, though. His emerald eyes were boring into her, and his brow was quirked up in doubt. She just attempted her best at a smile and tried to ignore the burning of Fleur's eyes on the side of her face as she looked away.

She looked up gratefully when Ron attempted to start a conversation.

"So how about them Chudley Cannons?"

She couldn't quite keep her lips from twitching upwards in fondness.

"Ron, the Cannons are the worst team in the league," stated Harry, his voice rather bland. "Didn't they loose against Scotland by three hundred points?"

Hermione let loose a slight grin as Ron retaliated with a quick fire defense. Despite the fact that she wasn't too keen on Quidditch, she was glad that they were at least attempting to cover up the awkwardness that had previously been present. She wasn't necessarily paying attention, with them discussing 'Chaser statistics' and all, but it was enough to make her shoulders lose their previous rigidness. Ron's brown eyes were bright with anger as he attempted to preserve the honor of his Quidditch team while Harry just looked plain amused by the red-head's vigor. It actually got to the point where Ron looked ready to explode before he looked towards the many owls that were swarming in and then paled significantly. He look horrified.

Both her and Harry turned their heads and she could faintly make out both Hedwig and Pig. Hedwig was merely carrying a white standard envelope while Pig...

Pig was carrying a bright red envelope with a black bow tied along the middle. She knew exactly what that was, given their humiliating experience with it back in Second year. And she heard Ron's breathing pick up frantically as Pig neared them, his brown wings spread wide and his rapidly swaying form justling the owls next to him. She heard Ron squeak as Pig finally arrived at the table; it was good to see Pig's landing had vastly improved seeing as he only soiled a glass of Pumpkin juice. The three of them just looked at each other, watching as the envelope squirmed impatiently to be opened.

She vaguely noticed that Ginny was sending them sympathetic looks while surrounded by the rest of her Third year friends.

Well, at least someone didn't happen to find the humiliation of a Howler completely hysterical. Because Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas were roaring with laughter and antagonizing Ron to open it. She hastily shot them seething glares and their laughter only grew louder; Seamus was laughing so hard that you could barely understand what he was saying, which was also helped by his thick Irish accent.

"C'mon, Ronnie! We ain' got all day now do we?"

Ron's face was a flaming magenta and his freckled hands were shaking horribly as he went to pick up the now hissing envelope. She watched as the majority of the Gryffindor house peered over at the envelope with curious glances; most of them had excited grins on their faces. Luckily, the rest of the Great Hall didn't seem to know about someone receiving a Howler.

Until now.

_"RONALD WEASLEY!"_

Hermione winced as the absolute raging voice of Molly Weasley permeated the entire Great Hall.

"_OFF OF SCHOOL GROUNDS AFTER HOURS? AN ENTIRE MONTH OF DETENTION? YOUR FATHER AND I ARE ABSOLUTELY APPALED AT YOUR BEHAVIOUR, RONALD WEASLEY! WE HAVE NEVER HAD THESE DELIQUENT PROBLEMS WITH PERCY, CHARLIE, BILL AND GINNY! BETWEEN YOU, FRED, AND GEORGE ALWAYS GETTING YOURSELVES INTO TROUBLE AT HOGWARTS I'M SUPRISED THAT PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE HASN'T EXPELLED THE THREE OF YOU!"_

She felt her own face flame - almost as much as Ron and Ginny's - as the power of Mrs. Weasley's voice caused the entire student body to turn and survey them; a fair amount of them were snickering and gesturing at a stricken Ron. And despite feeling remnants of annoyance at both Ron and Harry, she couldn't help but feel a bout of sympathy overtake her as she surveyed Ron sinking onto the bench and looking at Harry helplessly; Harry himself was blushing quite spectacularly. She could just see the students of Beauxbaton and Durmstrang craning their heads and looking at their little area with faint amusement; a few had their noses turned up in arrogance and disgust.

_"YOU, HARRY, AND HERMIONE ALWAYS FIND SOMEWAY TO END UP IN DANGER -"_

This time it was both Hermione and Harry that sunk down into their seats; her hand came to rest upon her now perspiring forehead as she attempted to ignore the stares of everyone and the hysterical jeers made by several Gryffindors; Seamus, Dean, and Lee Jordan, if she wanted to be accurate.

_" - AND I ALWAYS HAVE TO FRET WITH HARRY COMPETING IN THIS RIDICULOUS TOURNAMENT AND HERMIONE ACTING OUT AS A SCARLET WOMAN -"_

It was now Fred and George that had fallen off the bench because they were laughing so uproariously. Her face was on fire, and it grew to the tips of her ears as she noticed the Beauxbaton girl's giggling and prodding a still astounded Fleur; the French witch looked more than a little befuddled. And she could see Viktor frowning and looking oddly enough between her and a blushing Harry.

_" - AND IMAGINE MY REACTION WHEN I LEARNT THAT HERMIONE HAD BEEN COMING OUT OF THE FORBIDDEN FOREST AND YOU TWO HAD BEEN CAUGHT -"_

NO! Hermione's eyes widened in sheer panic; she could see Harry and Ron's doing the same as Harry hastily sat up on the bench and attempted to grasp at the shrilling envelope. She shakily grabbed her wand out of her Hogwart's robes and stood up in a rapid fire speed. Crouch Jr. absolutely could_ not_ know that Harry and Ron followed him, and she could feel the fear consume her veins and rush into her pre-palpitating heart as she realized that Fleur was now prone to the knowledge that she had been in the Forbidden Forest that night.

Her fiery brown eyes turned upon the envelope and she could vaguely make out Harry's eyes widening in seeing her aiming her Redwood and Dragon-Heartstring wand at the moving envelope. He quickly released his hands from around the envelope and took a quick stumble back off of the bench, half-heartedly pulling a frozen Ron with him.

"_Incarcerous," _she hissed furiously, watching as the envelope was lit by harsh flames and the harsh shrills of Mrs. Weasley ceased before she could say anything more.

Both Ron and Harry were looking at her gratefully; they also looked the lightest bit frightened, which she really couldn't blame them. She probably looked raging right now. She just lowered her wand slowly and attempted to regain her pride a little by raising her head in the air, attempting to fade her blush. Besides the obvious laughter of the previous culprits, she carefully grabbed her knapsack and gestured for Harry and Ron to do the same, which they did without much prompting. She carefully avoided looking at the Ravenclaw table as she strode down the table with a scurrying Harry and Ron on the other side.

She thought she heard Terry Boot say faintly, "That was a sixth year spell."

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_Moody's Abandoned Classroom: 6:42 PM._

Hermione ducked hastily as another stunning spell was sent at her rapidly moving form.

They had been dueling for the past hour and the brunette wouldn't deny that she was exhausted. But that didn't matter to her, because she vowed to help Harry in any way she could and she figured both of their dueling skills could definitely be improved. And with the Triwizard Tournament, it was safe to say that Harry could use the practice and skill more than she could. She flinched as another desk was hurled across the room towards her, and she grunted as she shot a deflecting spell at it. She straightened and her thoughts raced as she pointedly ignored the sickening crack of wood splintering on the wall.

"_Aguamenti!"_ She bellowed.

She smirked in victory when Harry looked up confusedly at her; he was sweating just as much as her, and his glasses were slightly askew as a particular vein in his neck bulged as he battled. She watched as his eyes widened in understanding at her tactics, and he was barely able to regain his footing from the massive amount of water hurled at his scuffling feet. But even that brief moment to regain his footing cost him.

_"Petrificus Totalus!" _murmured Hermione, watching in satisfaction as Harry could not quite get up his shield in time.

The spell broke through Harry's developing - therefore small - shield and struck him in the middle of his chest. His eyes had widened as the spell hit him, and she watched as his already pale complexion became pallor and statuesque. His hands snapped to his sides, and she slightly winced as he dropped to the floor with a loud thud. She could already feel the apologies forming in her head as she hastily went to fix her fallen friend. Harry's wide emerald eyes stared up at her as se hovered above him and waved her wand.

He slowly regained his color and breath, and she extended her hand to him as she helped him off of the cold ground.

"Looks like you bested me again, Hermione," he muttered, scratching the back of his head.

She sighed at his disheartened tone and she leaned forward and gently readjusted the crooked glasses on his nose. She just peered up at him - it seems as if he had grown an inch or two - and gave him a reassuring smile, grabbing his hand gently and squeezing his thin and lengthy fingers.

"You're a good dueler, Harry," she spoke, gently stowing her wand back in her Hogwart's robes. "Quite a bit more powerful than me, actually. You just need to use -"

" - As many resources that are presented around me," Harry finished, quoting the brunette. "I know."

Hermione just nodded her head and sat down, finally allowing herself to properly relax. She gestured toward the empty space on the desk beside her, which Harry quickly made his way over to. She just exhaled softly into the silence of the room, watching as the many artifacts of the room moved about.

"I know that you don't want to talk about this right now, but have you given any thought on telling -"

"No, Hermione," Harry interjected swiftly. "I'm not telling Dumbledore."

The brunette found herself huffing indignantly and pursing his lips up towards the ceiling of the classroom; she was desperately trying to reign in her annoyance with her best friend's lack of logic pertaining to his _life._ It was absolutely exhausting always having to be the one who was the voice of reason. She honestly didn't know if she would be able to do it much longer. Eventually Harry - and Ron, especially - would have to grow up and realize that she wasn't always going to be there to help them make decisions and supply the answers. And she wouldn't deny that it hurt, knowing that when that day came that her immediate presence with the two boys would slowly begin to fade away; she would only be their friend who happened to be a girl, not their friend that they relied upon day in and day out.

"I was talking about Sirius," she whispered.

Harry froze up unexpectedly at Hermione's words, clearly suprised that she was no longer pushing the Dumbledore issue. He turned to look at her, frowning slightly and twitching his fingers against the desk; she knew immediately that this idea of hers might be the only thing that could get through to Harry. Sirius Black might be the only figure that Harry would approach with this, so Hermione planned to take full advantage of Harry's strong liking for his newly reinstated Godfather.

"Just-just think about it, Harry," Hermione interrupted, watching as Harry opened his mouth. "If there is anyone we can trust, it's him. He could help us."

Harry's emerald eyes just stared forward.

"Because we don't know what Crouch Jr. is planning. He clearly wants you to get through the Third Task, but we haven't the slightest idea of what he is capable of."

He eventually turned his head toward her and looked at her; there were numerous emotions flashing across his face. But what had always made Hermione breathless were his eyes; not only was the colour beautiful and unique, but it was also the many emotions that she could always search and find. Whenever Harry looked brave, his eyes reflected fear; whenever he looked uncharacteristically carefree, his eyes would burst with happiness that would consume his entire iris and pupil in an unmistakeable twinkle. She could always figure it out just by his eyes alone.

And they were currently radiating with a desperation.

"I promise I'll think about it, Hermione," he muttered, turning his head away from her and looking down.

She nodded almost imperceptively. "Alright."

She watched as he moved off the desk, his shoulders hunched and his head down. He just trapsied towards the main entrance of the room, flicking his wand and muttering the cleaning spell. Hermione just watched Harry's form arrive at the closed door, the numerous objects occassionally obscuring her vision, but not quite distracting her from her quest to observe.

He turned back around around. "You might want to consider leaving soon, Hermione. Mood- _Crouch Jr. _might want his classroom back soon."

His sardonic tone cause Hermione to close her eyes and sigh loudly. She really couldn't blame him; Crouch Jr. had been pushing Harry to train for the Third Task, even offering little hints as to what lied ahead in the Third Task. It only clued them both in that he was most certainly trying to get Harry through the Triwizard Tournament alive. But that only frightened her more; she didn't how this was all going to end. It anguished her that Harry refused to tell anyone and that he would have to face whatever it was alone if he continued down this similiar path.

But Crouch Jr. had been ecstatic when they asked if they could practice dueling in his classroom. He _kindly _suggested that he would love to supervise and give them useful information. Hermione had somehow convinced them to leave them be, because Harry concentrated the most when only she was around. He seemed to find this believable, because he had charmed his classroom to remain unlocked. And after searching for the Marauder's Map thoroughly and ultimately failing, they had set to work.

She reopened her eyes and watched as Harry's lips upturned into a bitter grin. "I'll catch up to you later, Hermione."

"Wait!" She hastily shouted as he paused halfway out of the doorframe. "Don't forget to start on your Charms essay, Harry!"

He turned around and shot her a genuine smile, before nodding his head and walking out.

She sighed and lowered herself onto the floor with a bit of reluctance. In all honesty, she needed to take a walk and clear the current mess in her head; she consciously began to realize exactly where she wanted to go. And because of this she found herself walking in direction of the owlery; after checking her knapsack and making sure she had a quill and parchment, of course. She knew exactly what she was going to do, with or without Harry's permission. She was exhausted from stress and worry over her friend and his reluctance to tell an authority figure. So she was taking it into her own hands, regardless of the anger and silence she might be privy to in the future.

So she walked down the corridors of Hogwarts, occassionally passing by someone and exchanging a brief greeting. She could see the beautiful glow of the Great Hall as she passed it by; she concluded that it must be around the time for the evening festivities, because people were starting to emerge from the opposite end of the corridor and further on outside. She quickened her stride and she could vaguely see the blue Beauxbaton uniforms congregating towards the entrance to the Great Hall. She thought she heard her name, so she waved a hand to placate the person; she didn't necessarily turn around though, because she was in a rush to get to the owlery.

She finally turned around the corner of the last corrider, where only three students where miling around and exchanging pleasantries. Luckily they didn't distract her.

But what did distract her were the pair of familiar heels that she heard turn down the particular corrider she was on. She breathed deeply as she didn't stop walking, adjusting the nuisance that was the straps of her knapsack. She finally reached the stairwell that curved gracefully up into the tower that was known as the owlery. She trudged her way up the steps, listening to the sounds of the owl's trilling getting closer.

She finally arrived at the anciently textured wooden door, pushing it open with both of her hands. She immediately scrunched up her nose at the smell of all the owls and more than plenty of their droppings; their annoying trills made Hermione cringe and immediately make her way over into the small corner. It really was beautiful, she mused; the sun had all but faded and had left the perfect transition of approaching nightfall intermingled brilliantly with hues of pink. She could only keep watching the mesmerizing sky as she distractedly sat down upon the significantly small bench. She slowly began to pull out a spare bit of parchment and a quill, still keeping her eyes glued to the sky.

But then she stiffened.

The faint clacking of heels had reached the top of the stairwell, and she could only pretend she hadn't noticed when the door slowly opened, its creaking obnoxious and causing the owls to flutter about once more. She took several deep breaths as the door closed gently; the heels created a different sound upon the Oak wood as they lightly and gracefully moved forward. Hermione clench her eyes closed as an airy French-accented voice rang out in the room.

" 'Ermione?"

She breathed in and breathed out, not even aware of the fact that she was now clutching her parchment in a desperate grip. Her eyes snapped open as the footsteps grew closer to her spot in the corner, and she hastily got to her feet and gripped on tightly to her knapsack. All the air had simultaneously exited her chest in such a way that Hermione almost choked; Fleur's stunning face was now peering at her emotionlessly, but there was so much anxiety in her eyes that Hermione had to grip onto something to remain stable. And she fought. She fought ruthlessly not to walk over to where Fleur was; to grab her hand and reassure her everything was alright and that she was just being completely barmy. But for some complicated reason - of which she wasn't aware - she couldn't.

Fleur's head was raised pridefully - as always. And her shoulders were pulled back regally and gracefully; if it were someone who didn't know the French witch they would probably reckon that she had taken a turn back into her arrogance. The brunette witch knew that that assumption would be anything but right. Because it was always her eyes that revealed everything; she fiercely told herself that the reason she read Fleur so well was because Harry was almost the same way.

"Fleur," she breathed softly, finally averting her eyes.

The blonde girl's head tilted and she peered at her silently; it made Hermione flush the way that Fleur was attempting to read her, and she found herself hastily turning and making her way over to one of many owl perches. She closed her eyes and dropped her knapsack; the brunette knew that if she left than she would be an open book, and Fleur would _know_ that she was escaping. But she didn't necessarily know what she was escaping from; perhaps it was the fear that made her gut clench and her palms sweat. Because it was obviously the Veela that caused this; making her heart speed up before skipping a beat. It _couldn't _be Fleur in her - absolutely stunning - human form; it had to be the creature that was doing this.

She shakily perched her parchment on the ledge and tried to grasp her quill; she could at least pretend that the letter was the first thing on her mind.

"I was -" she swallowed, "-I was just writing an important letter to a friend of mine."

She could see Fleur cross her arms lightly out of the corner of her eyes. And somehow the French witch could sense her absolutely idiotic case of nervousness and jumpiness, because she approached her with light, hesitant steps until she was by her side. There was plenty of space beside them, but she swore she could feel the blonde's breathing. She should back away. Right now.

"Zey don' zeem zat important if 'ou can't even zink of w'at 'ou should say," stated Fleur, her tone light and non-threatening.

Hermione's jaw clenched harshly, because _dammit _this _was _important; her irrational fear and Fleur should not be her first priority, because it should be Harry at this point in time. And possibly her own sanity. She almost turned and snapped at the girl next to her, but she refrained. Because this was Fleur Delacour. She had treated Hermione with nothing but respect and she had even reached out to her in graciousness when she could have reached out to Harry - because he saved Gabrielle too - or anyone else at Hogwarts. And Hermione knew they would positively fall over themselves with the chance to be Fleur's friend.

"It is important," murmured Hermione, hating how faint her voice sounded. "It concerns Harry."

_'Shite,' _she chided herself inwardly.

" 'Arry?" Fleur asked. "Iz zere somezing wrong?"

"No!" She yelped quickly. "Nothing is wrong. I-I'm just worried about him in the tournament and keeping up with his studies because Merlin knows the boy is hopeless -"

Fleur cleared her throat gently, and Hermione trailed off her sentence with a faint blush and an apologetic look. And there was something that had flashed across Fleur's eyes; they had briefly darkened and narrowed before a friendly concern had replaced it in a flash. It was so quick that Hermione was absolutely sure she had imagined it, because she was beginning to accept the fact that she might in fact be going completely nutters. Ron's words, and now hers she supposed; reluctantly. But Fleur's head turned so that she was now facing the dark sky, her curtain of silvery-blonde hair twinkling almost as much as the stars above.

" 'Arry iz a good wizard," the French witch said, after a few moments of silence. " 'E iz zo much more zan a little boy."

Hermione nodded unconsciously at her words. "Yeah. That's why we became friends. He was - _is _different, and I care about him so much and it's killing me to watch him go through this."

From the corner of her eye she noticed Fleur's form go completely rigid for the briefest of seconds; she reckoned that there was still plenty of room in St. Mungos. In fact, this letter should be addressed to them and not someone else. And Hermione hated - no, absolutely detested, feeling so confused, lost, and helpless. If this was how Harry had been feeling than she was going to go hug the bloody hell out of him.

Fleur's body was now completely relaxed next to hers; she had even leaned her arms up against the vacated owl post and arched up against it. And Hermione knew that only this beautiful French woman could successfully accomplish leaning up against an owl post in the middle of a covered-in-droppings owlery and look sophisticated and lovely. The childish girl in her wanted to grumble jealously; she would never admit that the other part in her would just want to watch for hours and contemplate on the abstract qualities that she would never herself possess.

Fleur's perfectly manicured hands were skimming artfully against the intricular patterns on the Oak. Her lovely blues were slightly content now and she seemed to be far away from Hogwarts and from all the anguish that Hermione had been privy to two nights ago. It honestly warmed Hermione's heart a tad bit. She actually found herself become content; her eyes traced the corner of her parchment lazily and she found herself consciously smiling. And it was a genuine and delighted smile; not embarrassed, fake, or half-arsed. She was surprised when she heard gentle, mesmerizingly rhythmic laughter next to her. And she turned her chocolate orbs onto Fleur's intense stare. She was surveying her as if she had never seen Hermione before, and the girl in question found herself turning her head back to face her parchment.

She gasped.

Her breath hadn't vacated her body; it was _struggling _and rushing through every corner and vessel of her body. She was utterly certain that all the blood had pumped into her heart and had made it beat tons of thousands more the normal limit. Because Fleur was now so close to her that she could actually _feel _the girl's breath on her face. She could almost see every freckle of silver in Fleur's blue eyes; and blonde's eyes were positively radiating. They were radiating with a healthy dose of protectiveness and the corners crinkled with anxiety.

The girl's lean hand still lingered on Hermione's cheek, and she wasn't just grasping it now; it was holding her in place and forcing her not to run off into the night. And Hermione could feel her eyes darting back and forth confusedly across Fleur's face, silently questioning what the woman was doing. Because that's all she could hear other than her thrumming ears; utter silence. Somehow even the owls sensed the presence of the room and now most them had their heads tucked under their wings. And if Hermione weren't so damn confused and _thrumming,_ then she would laugh with bemusement.

She thinks she might have possibly dropped her quill, but she wasn't certain. She wasn't neccessarily certain of anything right now; well, except for the fact that Fleur was right _there _and twinkling in the dark and confusing the sodding bloody bleeding blasting hell out of Hermione. She outright gasped, embarrassingly so, when Fleur finally broke the heavy silence.

" 'Ermione," breathed Fleur, and her voice was lower pitched and much huskier than normal.

Hermione looked at Fleur and tried not to be scared or intimidated by the closeness of the French witch. She attempted to maintain the eye contact between the two of them; she was brave and she was a Gryffindor, and she would most certainly not back down from whatever this was. And the almost desperation that was escaping Fleur in waves made her grasp her concern of her friend rather than run and never look back.

"Y-Yes?" She cursed the shakiness of her voice, and she mentally throttled herself.

"I know zat 'ou saw me," she whispered, her voice outlined in trepidation.

Hermione's entire body froze, and she felt herself unconsciously pulling away from the French witch. An irrational fear swept through her and she could just envision those magenta eyes; she was sure her breathing was erratic and that her face reflected that night. She could feel the sweat building up and the quivering chin and she prayed to Merlin that Fleur would just let her go. Let her go and not chase her; a part of her was raging inwardly with herself because that rational part knew that Fleur would never hurt her.

Fleur could never hurt her, and Hermione trusted her with her life. But her body wasn't listening to her mind; it was preparing the flight of the flight or fight mentality, and it had by now attempted to wrench away from the now clearly desperate French woman, whose eyes were burning and pleading and just so confusing. Because it seemed like Fleur cared more than she should and it frightened Hermione to the point of tears. And it must be tears, because she notices a flash of heartbreak in those eyes and could feel the rough tugging of Fleur's hands.

Fleur is at the point right now where she looks furious; her hands tighten exponentially on Hermione's arms and tug her harshly against the French woman's body. She has a hold on her so tight that Hermione can't even think straight at this point. The blonde is muttering tidbits of French, and Hermione concludes that it must me soothing words because those lean hands are no longer harsh and she could feel her body relaxing without her consent. She could no longer feel the flight in her because Fleur is gazing at her with reassurance and not that previous fury.

Fleur seems to sigh in relief, because that odd moment of panic and misunderstanding seemed to be over. And though Hermione doesn't show it, she gives woman the benefit of the doubt. She gazes at Fleur speculatively through watery eyes, wondering what the blonde wanted to say. Fleur takes a deep breath and seems to attempt to convey her point.

" 'Ou must know zat I would never 'urt you, 'Ermione," She breathed, looking at her with pure honestly and grasping her softly. " 'Ou are my friend."

Hermione releases a breath and swallows, attempting to nod at the now composed blonde. She had honestly never seen Fleur this open before; the only other time had been the Black Lake with Gabrielle. And this was amazingly all of hers, which made her feel somewhat selfish that she had unconsciously provoked this in Fleur and actually reveled in it. She knew that Fleur considered her a friend, but she had no idea that the level of friendship had been this deep for the older Delacour. She surely must have dozens of friends in Beauxbaton and France. Surely the brunette was one amongst many.

But that's when she realized that her assumption was completely wrong. She couldn't believe how oblivious she had been. She had seen Fleur giggle with a few Beauxbaton classmates before, and she had seen her with that one brunette studying in the library once or twice. But sometimes when Hermione had been with Gabrielle and having fun with the girl, the older Delacour would be on her own - more often and not - or looking at the two wistfully. And she remembered asking about Fleur's friends in France and the blonde had only mentioned one dear friend in France.

Hermione wanted to pick the quill up off of the floor - because apparently it had taken a fall - and write 'prat' across the top of her head. Fleur _did _consider her a dear friend, despite the lack of time they had known each other. Fleur held her in suprisingly high regard and went out of her way for the brunette and Hermione hadn't even noticed.

"I-I know you wouldn't have," she murmured, looking up at Fleur in earnest.

She could see the relief bloom in Fleur's eyes and the blonde gave her a soft quirk of her rosy lips. Hermione could feel herself reaching up and grasping Fleur's arms gently; she squeezed and felt the lean, sinewy muscles dance under her touch. She unconsciously traced her fingers over her elbow, and noticed the French woman's long eyelashes fluttering gently.

But Fleur must have come to her complete senses, because she let go of Hermione's arms softly; the blonde took deep, even breaths as she straightened her shoulders and took a fair step backwards. The older Delacour really must have been desperate, because it seemed as if she were currently reaffirming her dignity. Hermione felt her heart skip once more at the thought of being one of the only few who had ever seen Fleur like this. And now she felt as if it should be her to do the comforting this time around. She took a step forward and took Fleur's hand.

"Thank you, Fleur," Hermione whispered. "You're a good friend and I know that you would never put me in harm's way. I was just being silly."

Fleur's eyes softened even more so. "Non, 'ou were 'ust being logical. I zink zats how everyone would react if zey 'ad seen w'at 'ou had."

Hermione shook her head fiercely and released the woman's hand. She bit her lip and looked at her with nothing but apology and self-loathing; she was the voice of reason, and she was the one who was taught never to judge and never to assume anything. Hell, she had learned that being who she was and being friends with Harry Potter.

"But I'm not everyone else," she bit out, furious with herself. "I feel so hypocritical for saying never to judge and I immediately go and I hurt you by doing just that."

Fleur stepped closer and looked at her with fondness ringing in her eyes. She leant forward and chastely kissed both of Hermione's cheeks, backing up away slowly and gesturing towards the door. Hermione just blinked for a minute before nodding her head in understanding, slightly disappointed in Fleur's departure. She attempted a weak grin when Fleur opened the door, immediately stepping in its frame and turning back to partly face the brunette. The blonde looked commanding.

" 'Ou are most definitely not anyone else, 'Ermione," she said, her tone holding authority. "I ezpect 'ou at ze Ravenclaw table tomorrow night. Gabrielle and I miss 'ou."

And without any warning she turned and walked out the door, shutting it softly.

And Hermione didn't know how long she stood there blinking, but she reckoned it was quite awhile. The owls were trilling once more and she hadn't even noticed when the candles had been lit. And a confused smile tugged at her lips, because she hadn't seen Gabrielle in only a day and Fleur in a few, but the woman had blatantly stated that they missed her. It left her feeling more than a little foolish when she began grinning happily, more than happy that a weight had been gracefully lifted off of her shoulders by Fleur herself.

And she tried to push away the self-resentment and curiosity when she realized that Fleur had spared her every single detail about _why _she had turned. She refused to frown, because now was not the time to go on ruining all of the peace just because of her insatiable curiosity again. She absolutely refused to this time. It was the French woman's business and she would tell her -possibly, hopefully - when she was one hundred percent ready.

She sighed and picked off her quill and parchment, once more walking across the to room and sitting at the bench. She placed the parchment onto the table; she did her best to push aside her thoughts on Fleur and everything else and focus solely on Harry. '_Harry,' _her mind affirmed. _'It's time for Harry now.'_

And taking a deep breath and positioning her quill, she began writing in her elegant script.

_**'Dear Padfoot'...**_

_/_

_/_

_Near the Black Lake: 5:30 PM. The Next Day._

Hermione just shook her head softly, internally amused by her friend's antics.

"Wha'?" Ginny snorted. "You can' actually blame me, now can you?"

The brunette shuffled her books to the side and leaned up against the gigantic Oak tree; there were just the right amount of clouds that day, because they were dutifully blocking a portion of the sun and causing the remains of the golden hues to spread across the almost gaunt surface of the Black Lake. It was a lovely - and quite relaxing - visual.

As soon as class had ended, she had been pleasantly suprised when Ginny dragged her out here. It was beautiful and it made Hermione forget all of her current worries; Ginny had always been the insightful friend out of the group and she was reveling in her appreciation. Somehow Ginny had taken one glance at her - surely - worn face and immediately demanded that Hermione accompany her outside to study and enjoy the weather. Now the older witch was certainly glad that the fiery haired girl wouldn't have accepted 'no' as an answer.

"Actually yes, yes I can," she smiled.

Ginny immaturely stuck her tongue out at Hermione and reclined her head back against the grass. She couldn't help but find the contrast between the sun's golden light and Ginny's fiery red hair absolutely gorgeous. It was also the surroundings; the mid-Spring grass was almost an emerald at this point, and the leaves of the trees were the same matching colour. Ginny's red hair, the stunning surroundings, and the warm weather made Hermione shut her eyes for the briefest of seconds and just allow herself to feel; to not think.

Her eyes snapped open when Ginny yelled, "Oi! Neville!"

She looked over towards the uphill and could see the gangly boy in question; he was clutching parchment delicately in his hands as if his life depended upon it. He had previously been furrowing his brow and mumbling incoherent information under his breath, but his head had snapped up as soon as he heard the familiar voice and his name.

Neville certainly had developed and grown since they had first come to Hogwarts. All of his baby fat was gone and he - like Ron - had sprouted a fair few inches. He seemed to realize that his Gran wasn't the best judge of character when it came to haircuts, because it was now considerably - but somehow charmingly - shaggy. He admittedly didn't have the aristocratic handsomeness or Draco Malfoy - which Hermione would never, _ever _admit to, the prick - or the boyish charms of Cedric, Harry, or Ron, but he was charming in his own little way. And it made Hermione feel guilty that she honestly hadn't interacted with Neville since before the Second Task; she normally helped him with his lessons and he ecstatically told her stories of Herbology and exotic plans that she had never heard of. Admittedly, it was more for the boy's own excitement rather her own.

His grip on his parchment tightened, but one of his hands came up into a shy wave.

Ginny looked towards Hermione with a raised eyebrow, and the brunette just shrugged her shoulders. The fiery girl grinned and emphatically gestured the now confused looking Neville over to where their spot was; Hermione plastered a soft smile on her face and made sure to contribute her own light-hearted gesturing. Neville grinned slightly and made his way over to the two girls; his Hogwart's robes were off and he was wearing his Gryffindor tie hanging loosely, much like the two girls.

"Er...hey, guys," he mumbled, settling down a few feet away from them. "How's your day goin'?"

Ginny grinned. "Excellent. Astoria Greengrass, who's a Slytherin, knocked over some'a tha' healin' potion on Snape's shoes. Bleeding potion boiled through."

The red-head burst into raucious laughter, keeling over onto her open books and promptly struggling to right herself during her hysteria. Hermione _almost _made a sound of disapproval, but Ginny looked so delighted at this mishap that she simply couldn't ruin the girl's good mood by her seriousness. And Neville looked simply horrifed for the briefest moment before his head turned away; his thin lips were struggling not to quirk up into a smile, and that's when Hermione released an amused smile of her own. Neville clearly still detested Professor Snape - which it was probably reciprocated - and was still simultaneously terrified of him. Ginny was still laughing happily, her face as red as her hair now.

But then Ginny's smile faded. "That tart didn' even get a _single _point taken off."

Neville frowned softly and shook his head. "And to think I got points taken off for simply showing up to tha' class."

Ginny looked dumb-struck; the female Weasley looked torn between sympathizing and bursting out into inappropriate laughter. Luckily, Hermione saved her the indecision. An abrupt chortle of amusement left her mouth before she could truly stop it, and she slapped her hands up against her mouth ungracefully. She shot Neville an apologetic look when his head snapped toward her.

But to her great suprise, he grinned. He fiddled with the parchment in his hand before beginning to laugh softly himself. "It's alright. Snape hates me."

Hermione slammed her eyes shut and she felt like like a cruel tart when more laughter escaped her lips. But luckily the boy didn't seemed the least offended by it; he was actually grinning himself and shaking his head wistfully. Ginny finally seemed to realize that no offense was taken because she began guffawing, her lightly freckled hands coming up and clutching the both of her cheeks happily. And after it finally slowed down, she tilted her hand at the bit of parchment clutched in the boy's suprisingly small digits.

"So whatcha got there, Nev?"

He just shrugged his head nonchalantly and tucked it under his knee; he seemed to flush a little bit and Hermione nearly groaned when the youngest Weasley got that scary grin on her features. It looked so similiar to Fred and George's that Hermione almost wanted to dart away.

"Is it'a love letter? Hmmmm?" Ginny over-exaggeratedly fluttered her eyelashes. "Tell Auntie Gin all about it, love."

Neville seemed to blush all the way down to the beginning of his collarbone and back. He shook his head frantically and retrieved the parchment from under his knee; even his panic over Ginny's teasing hadn't affected its value, because he delicately and diligently unfolded the inticate folding of the parchment. He looked over it briefly before putting it down onto Hermione's Transfiguration book, seeing as how she was the closest to him. The fiery redhead went to snatch it but Hermione grabbed it before the girl could get her hands on it.

She looked over at Neville, who looked grateful, and nodded his permission. She took a soft breath and looked down at it. There, covering a third of the top half of the parchment, was a flower. But it didn't seem to be just any flower, because this flower had a design that she had seen before; it was beautifully sketched and every single petal had the absolute perfect precision and imagination. Soft little buds had actually stemmed from each of the large petals. And the center was surrounded by many curved little pearls; it was so beautiful that Hermione could barely tear apart her gaze.

She could vaguely see chicken scratch below the flower; it looked like a possible definition or assumed details. And there was even a line drawn from the very center onto the outer parts of the parchment. And she squinted her eyes at the lackluster script, but she thought she could make out the words 'fairy dust.'

She blinked for an entire minute, pointedly ignoring Ginny's whining. "What is this, Neville?"

Neville's eyes brightened almost breathlessly, and he got an excited grin on his face. Hermione half-heartedly handed the picture over to Ginny when the girl made another attempt to reach for it. The brunette just peered at the boy and she knew that it obviously had something to do with Herbology.

"_That,"_ he enunciated, " -Is the Lotus Flower."

Hermione frowned and racked her intelligence and memory for anything pertaining to this beautiful flower. And she was quite frustrated when she came up with absolutely nothing. She breathed a little sigh of relief when she realized she wasn't the only one, because Ginny handed it back to Neville while looking at the boy as if he were a three-headed dog.

"I'm'a - well, sorry, Nev," Ginny frowned. "But what the bloody hell is a Lotus Flower?"

He grinned. "A Lotus Flower has been around for many centuries, or so the Herbologists experts explain. It is defined as 'the love flower'."

Both Hermione and Ginny's brows quirked up at the definition of the beautiful flower, and the brunette notices Ginny's smirk growing wider by every second that passes by. Poor Neville looked like he was going to be teased quite obnoxiously by the youngest Weasley; it seems like he knew it too, because he instantly paled and began stumbling over his words. Hermione just looked at him with reassurance, and she turned and shot Ginny a warning look; this cause the younger girl to pout and cross her arms, sticking her tongue out at Hermione once more.

"Isn't that a bit like Amortentia?" At Neville's confused look, she explained the potion and how it normally worked.

But she was quite suprised when Neville grinned and shook his head. "With Amortentia, you can love anybody. This flower makes you _realize_ you love someone."

Hermione unconsciously frowned; for some odd reason, she felt challenge rise up through her body and she tried to instantly quell it. Because she didn't want to challenge the boy's obvious research that he put into the flower. Maybe if it were another subject, but this was Herbology, and this was Neville's field of expertise; so she quickly scourged the doubt and questions that had built up and she found herself nodding her head and smiling reassuringly at the boy. He seemed to find this inspiring, because he suprisingly stood to his feet again and smiled excitedly, grasping the parchment in his head and peering down at it.

"Well, I hope you have luck finding it, Nev," nodded Ginny.

"Thanks, Gin. And see you around, Hermione." And with that, he waved at them gently as he began to make his way back up the hill and towards Hogwarts.

He seemed to occassionally peer off to the sides and double check the parchment when he came upon a flower, and this made Ginny _and _Hermione giggle heartedly as they rested back down against the grass. She just peered up into the sky and listened freely as Ginny began to hum a familiar Weird Sister's song. But she was suprised when the melody momentarily stopped and the red-head leaned up on her elbows and peered down at her curiously. Hermione felt her own eyes connect to Ginny's embarrassed ones.

"Do you think that Lotus Flower is real?" Her voice sounded suprisingly timid.

Hermione's brow quirked at the red-head's question and she almost wanted to point out that the girl had been the one teasing Neville about it earlier. But then she remembered that this was Ginny; she was exceptionally strong and had almost unfathomable will-power, but the girl was exactly that; a girl. She might try and hide it with jokes and laughter, but the girl believed in love perhaps more than anyone. And she peered her gentle brown eyes up at Ginny's diverted hazels.

"I honestly couldn't tell you," she murmured. "But I do know that they will realize they love you when the time is right; you have to be patient and just be yourself. You don't need a stupid flower."

Ginny's shy smile could have cured Snape from his uneccessary harshness; it was blinding and hopeful simultaneously. And the brunette couldn't help but laugh as the girl grinned excitedly and peered over at the Black Lake, occassionally twirling the grass between two freckled fingers. But she as honestly suprised when the girl turned her gaze back upon her; there seemed to be an odd..._knowing _in the girl's eyes before it disappeared. She was suprised when the girl stood to her feet and wiped all of the grass off of herself, gently grabbing her stuff and giving Hermione a soft smile.

"Maybe you're the one that needs the Lotus Flower, Granger," she winked.

Hermione felt herself going completely jaw-slacked as the redheaded girl sashayed back up onto the Hogwart's grounds, her head held high.

The next time she saw Ginny she was going to give the girl a real stern talking to. Because she was Hermione Granger; she wasn't in love and she certainly didn't need some stupid flower to make her life even more complicated than it already was. Hell, she wasn't even remotely attracted to anyone. She just huffed annoyingly and closed her eyes.

Stupid Ginny and stupid flowers.

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_So...whatcha think?_

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	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **_I'M ALIVE_**! **Well, this is quite awkward right about now, isn't it? I should probably at least start notifying everyone if I intend to put something on Hiatus. These last few months have been ridiculous. I will spare you my self-pity and the story of my hard-ships and just give you a somewhat true: 'I had writer's block.' I had originally written this chapter two months back, along with new chapters for all of my other stories. And, of course, my computer got infected with a virus to the point where it couldn't be saved; my ingenious plot to post everything all at once had gone to complete shit. So I have had to officially re-write everything. Including this long-ass chapter. So my deepest apologies, and I hope some of you are still interested in this story.

To **Aeleorn**: I terribly apologize. I told you I would have this up two months ago. So I'm sorry about that. I love when somebody quits and they double everyone else's workload. But It's finally here!

_Some General Information: I have made a decision in regards to this story. While I appreciate some Harem and Multi-Pairings stories, that is not what this will be. This will be a strict Fleur/Hermione story. It will still be a hesitant eventual pairing, because I plan to incorporate some obstacles and plot-lines; patience and hopefully intrigue will keep you reading. There will be interests from other characters, because it would be unrealistic if I didn't incorporate that. But when it seems as if I will venture off-track and change the pairing or interest around completely, I won't. Simple as that. Because I am now itching for my own characters to get together as well and it's almost a physical struggle not to just throw down and write some smut. But no, that is for a later time. ;)_

To those still sticking with this story and still wanting alerts and leaving reviews: Thank you. You genuinely complete my day. And a special thank you to all of those who have been very consistant in private messaging me and inquiring about the next chapter. You've inspired me to put aside hectic life for awhile and continue on with something that I genuinely love to do.

Warning: Quite a lengthy chapter. Very long. If you get through this without falling asleep or just turning it off, than kudos to you! Hints of sexuality in this chapter. Almost nothing at all, but you know how this site is getting nowadays.

R&R, cause you guys always make me smile.

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_Of Suitors And Scolding/The Cave(Yell Fire!)/I Get By With A Little Help(From My Friends)_

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_The Next Day: Thursday. 12 Days Until The Third Task. 7:00PM._

"I'ma tellin' you, Ronnie! It actually happene'!"

Hermione let out an indignant scoff as she further tried to bury herself in her novel; teenage boys - especially these in particular - were completely vulgar creatures. And she felt as if she were being considerably generous for even saying something as insulting as that. They were inconsiderate, vile, and egotistical neanderthals! Alas, maybe not Harry, who seemed to be as red as a tomato and just as uncomfortable with the conversation as she was...

"Mate, I'ma not makin' this shite up! She unbuckled my belt an' started suckin' me off as soon'as we got inna closet."

"_THAT IS IT!"_

Hermione winced at even her own offensive screech of fury and indignation; it seemed to complete its task though, because Ron had covered his previously over-eager ears and groaned while Seamus and Dean shot her an unimpressive glare at her intentional interruption. And Harry, while a tidbit of him seemed just as eager to hear the gruesome details, looked pre-dominately thankful for her intervention. She vaguely noticed a few first years jump and scramble upon themselves to get out of their groups' way as they - in Hermione's case, aggressively - trapsied forth toward the Great Hall for supper.

"Merlin's testicles, Granger! No need to'a get your knickers in'a twist."

Hermione glowered at Seamus's arrogant grin; she would have been inclined to think that her tightened hold on her Charms book and her furious expression would have tipped him off. Unfortunately, it didn't. Because facts were facts and Seamus was, well, _Seamus. _The moron currently had his Gryffindor tie loosened and white button-up untucked; his light brown hair was just as unkempt as his clothes. And those full lips were pulled into his trademark playful smirk. If he wasn't such a pompous and chauvenistic toe-rag, she would actually agree to a visit to Hogsmeade with him. It was similiar to her thoughts on Draco Malfoy. Even their good-looks couldn't make up for their _winning _personalites and 'ambitious' goals, which dutifully consisted of who they were trying to bed that day or how to cause even more trouble without getting caught.

"_Excuse me _for finding the way your speaking about a poor, innocent girl in a completely degrading manner absolutely offensive. _My _apologies."

Seamus's baby blue eyes rolled up towards the Hogwart's ceiling in an annoyed gesture; Dean kept respectfully quiet, for once, while Ron and Harry shared glances full of trepidation. Hermione didn't take note however, because she was too preoccupied in stowing away her novel in her knapsack and keeping the clench in her jaw from grinding her teeth too hard. Her parents were dentists after all, and they would go completely mental if anything happened to her teeth. She couldn't be bothered about Seamus's teeth, however, and she quickly had to escape her violent mindset; it consisted of her knocking the absolute shite out of him - or just hexing him until his male bits just happened to tumble upon the Hogwart's stone floors until Mrs. Norris and Filch stumbled across them in horror.

She pursed her lips and kept her eyes determinedly forward; she could see the blurs of Harry and Ron in her peripheral verson, and they had flinched slightly. Those two always seemed to do that when she had that tone of voice. Ron deemed it immediately - in an almost frightened manner - as '_Danger Granger.'_

And she felt the swell of relief blossom when she noticed the tall, elegant doors of the Great Hall come into their view. She didn't know how much longer she could have taken this mindless and beyond offensive torture; boys were boys and she completely understood the misbalance of teenage hormones, but she detested when they had to go and flaunt their 'conquests' up with the others in their dorm. And as much as she loathed to admit it, there was a slight burn that enveloped her chest - of hurt, of more than a little offense - when they continually treated her as if she were just one of the boys.

They had hesitantly approached a new subject - with quite a bit of reluctance from Seamus - as the golden candles of the Great Hall enveloped their moving forms.

The smell of food overtook Hermione's senses and she could feel the familiar warmth settle in her chest as she observed the students miling about and chatting. It wasn't quite full as of yet, just the scattering of student bodies at each table; she could make out the entire teaching staff towards the front of the Great Hall; Dumbledore being his rather odd self and merely watching everyone, and that barmy Trelawney seemed to be discussing something quite peculiar - which probably consisted of future deaths, or maybe an _accurate _prophecy - with a seemingly unwilling Professor Flitwick. Snape looked his usual sullen self, and McGonagall seemed in a deep discussion with Professor Hopkirk.

But overall the atmosphere seemed relatively light-hearted, and ignoring the deep pang in her chest as she glimpsed at _Professor Moody _drinking from his flask at the right corner, she trapsied forth.

When his inquisitive and narrowed eyes left her form, in which she vaguely realized Harry and Ron were by her side now, she felt herself breathe again. And the scary realization about this entire damn situation was that this was almost her second nature now; her body going utterly rigid and the feeling of almost panic whenever she saw _him. _It made her chest constrict and her throat open and close almost spastically, and she only realized after that she always went to grab her wand immediately in a white-knuckled grip of fury.

At least she could predict good reflexes on her part.

She could feel the gentle grip on her shoulder, and she immediately snapped back into her surroundings with a flinch and an unconvincing smile.

Harry had his head cocked to the side in a sign of question; she gently gripped his elbow and kept her - hopefully convincing - smile on her face. But this was Harry, and the boy certainly was in no way daft pertaining to her. Because his emerald green eyes were narrowed behind his shapely glasses; they were slightly narrowed and they were consistantly flashing with amiable concern, and more than a little charmingly innocent inquisitiveness. She could only sigh and pat his arm, jerking her head to the only half-occupied Gryffindor table.

He shook his head, and his voice was merely a low murmur. "I thought you were having supper with Fleur and Gabrielle?"

Her eyes widened hastily in remembrance.

He grinned and shook his head. "You really must be goin' mental, 'Mione."

"I must be," she murmured, faintly.

She huffed out a breath of annoyance and shifted her messy chocolate bangs behind her ear; she had decided to keep it relatively simple with her hair pulled back in an unkempt fashion. She could feel her stomach twist in anxiety and nervousness, because she had completely forgotten about her plans with the Delacour sisters. She most certainly would have put a bit more of effort into her appearance had she remembered; her brows immediately furrowed after her absurd line of thought, because when had she begun to care about the shallowness of appearance? She blamed it on a sudden bout of insecurity; those girls were _stunning_, and she couldn't very well be looking like a Grindylow when the two of them looked like flawless mermaids.

She only half-heartedly returned Harry's sentimental good-bye, due to her ridiculous nervousness and the current pretty blue eyes that were locked on her own. The French girl was currently surrounded by several of her Beauxbaton classmates, but she only seemed to be partially paying mind to them. Her perfectly manicured nails were interlocked and currently placed under her slightly defined chin, and her head was tilted to the side. She seemed to be paying no heed to them now, because she now seemed to be smiling slightly at Hermione; one of her arched eyebrows quirked up, and her head gestured subtly to the Ravenclaw table.

Hermione smiled back at Fleur - berating herself inwardly and hoping her lips were not quaking in uncertainty - and began to slowly make her way to the Ravenclaw table. She shuffled her knapsack repeatedly as she neared, and she determinedly kept her eyes locked on the pretty blonde's, whose eyes were brightening exponentially with each step the brunette took. She could see Gabrielle vibrating with excitement in her seat, giving Hermione a small wave; the brunette felt her cheeks warm ever so slightly when Gabrielle huffed at the girl sitting next to her, shooing her very rudely with her hands to scoot over and make way. Not to mention the rapid-fire French, which consisted of Fleur turning toward her sister with disapproval.

Fleur was looking at her once more, but her eyes were somewhat dimmed and trained at something over the brunette's shoulder.

"Herm-Own-Ninny?"

She whirled around, and her eyes widened in suprise when she noticed the form of Viktor behind her; his shoulders were predictably slouched, and there almost seemed to be an put-off expression adorning the sullen boy's face. She felt immediate guilt well up within her, because she had not been spending much time with the Durmstrang boy before her. Since the Black Lake, she had only really graced him with her presence once or twice a week; beforehand it had been once a day or just about every other day, whether it was him watching her study consistantly in the library or her reading a book whilst he took is daily run around the Black Lake.

Her heart had admittedly brightened a little when he had seemingly ignored his quite annoying fangirls in order to glance her way and send her a nod at each checkpoint. She wouldn't lie, he was an attractive boy, had a very admirable Quidditch career, and was seemingly mature and quite quiet for his age, yet she wouldn't necessarily say she was _completely _barmy over him.

She wouldn't deny that she enjoyed his company and had yet to complain when he graced her with a kiss; kisses more like, recalling one session that became quite passionate to where she was halfway in his lap and her hands were in his hair. She remembers feeling his strong, calloused Quidditch hands respectfully on her sides while his tongue danced in her mouth and another _part _of him pressed quite intimately against her thigh. She hadn't let it progress any further than snogging, because while she admired him, she just knew it wasn't him that she was ready for. She was merely fifteen, after all. She respected the boy, but she guiltily admitted that letting it progress further would not be the best of ideas; she wanted to prove that she had good intentions, and leading someone who obviously liked her on would be saying completely otherwise.

"Hello, Viktor," she mustered, glancing down briefly before bravely meeting his gaze.

A tiny smidgeon of hurt flashed briefly in his dark eyes, but it was quickly covered by a soft affection. His roughened hands were twitching and gleaming magnificently, and it merely made her feel all the more guilt. Girl's would absolutely off a tosser to be in her position, and maybe she had just never really been grateful enough for anything. She attempted - it took a lot of her customary stubborn will - to breathe evenly.

"I have missed you, Herm-Own-Ninny. I vas vonderin' if you vould join tonight?"

His voice was silkily rough, if such an absurd thing even existed. And the colour of his exceedingly dark eyes began to match his inward hope; now a pretty hazel brown, seemingly two shades lighter. The guilt now threatened to consume her magical being whole, with the feeling only a small contrast to _drowning _in the Black Lake. His eyes were twinkling and she could practically _feel _the negative taste of Igor Karkaroff from where she stood; frozen, like one of the many intricate statues adorning the halls of Hogwarts.

She delicately took his hand - which all but gripped hers tightly - and she smiled placatedly. "I would love to, Viktor, but I promised Fleur I would sit with her tonight."

His eyes resumed the darkness quickly; it wasn't frighteningly so, because it was seemingly a sullen, defeated gaze. It was trained above the brunette's shoulder, and she flicked her head back around in a subtle manner to view Fleur. The pretty blonde in question still had her hands placed delicatedly beneath her chin. But something seemed...off. Knuckles were now bent and clenched and no longer straightened in relaxation. Her lips were almost imperceptively pursed; blue eyes were no longer crinkled happily. Every edge and line of skin in the corner of her stunning blue eyes seemed taut, almost narrowed. If Hermione hadn't of known Fleur, she probably would have missed the tell-tale signs of outright annoyance. There almost seemed to be something beyond that; fierce, and exceedingly beyond her comprehension. It was probably protective, she surmised.

She righted herself, gazing gently. "I'm-I'm sorry, Viktor. May I make it up to you by showing you around Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

He began to smile slightly. "I vould like dat."

He let go of her hand gently, and he handsomely pressed them casually in his pockets. The Durmstrang boy seemed far more relaxed, and she knew that she would be giving them a premature ending to their little romance tomorrow. Despite his initial intimidation and oddness, he was a sincerely nice boy. Maybe if she had not been so stressed, worry-some, and genuinely confused with herself, it might have worked out.

"_довиждане__, _Herm-Own-Ninny."

The Bulgarian on his tongue was smooth and fluid; she could only guess that it was some form of a farewell.

Her cheeks burned ever so slightly as his lips met her cheek delicately; they were chapped and a beautiful pastel pink, downturned and bow-shaped. They still felt nice, if the fluttering of her eyes were any indication. But it was a stark contrast to the negativity and guilt battling in the pit of her stomach, and the moment was over just as quick as it had begun.

She swallowed heavily and ignored the beady, jealous eyes of the scorching girls of the Great Hall taking their interaction in. A few whispers begun to flow; some were merely curious and wonderous as to their relationship, and some were gripped by more than a little bitterness and disbelief. It made her want to just abandon supper with the Delacours and go to her dorm; alas, maybe to bury herself in her novel and pretend that all of this was easier, or maybe just stare outside at the blackened hues in the skies and just attempt to talk herself in carrying on with all the anchors on her shoulders sinking her.

She just blew deep breaths from her still pinkened cheeks as she once more trapsied up to the Ravenclaw's - no, to Fleur. She could hear the French become more pronounced, and admittedly only understood a few of the words in each light conversation. It all flowed so smoothly, but it was just as intimidating as the blue Beauxbaton uniforms reflecting stunningly amidst the black cloaks and the low-lit candles. The pretty faces - no, marvelously radiant; gorgeous in all the right ways - were surveying her as she finally made it to Fleur's side, who was dutifully raising an eyebrow. The Veela had lost all previous traces of annoyance and she was now smiling beautifully at the fidgeting, nervous brunette. The said brunette was cursing herself inwardly as her messy bangs kept reappearing from behind her ear and placing themselves messily on her right cheek.

Because she almost felt a beauty contestant, and against these primped, perfected, and delicate girls - no chance.

"'Ermione, eet appears 'ou 'ave finally graced us with 'our presence."

Fleur's voice held the tiniest tinklings of mirth, and the brunette looked considerably sheepish as she brushed her bangs back once more. She gracefully - that in itself was considerably laughable - sat in the preoffered seat between the stunning blonde and her younger sister; the said younger sister in question was beaming brightly.

"Bonjour, 'Ermione," grinned Gabrielle.

"Bonjour, Gabrielle. Comment allez-vous ce soir?"

She had meant for the question to come out in confidence, but it merely sounded a confunded mess. She had remembered only a little French from when her parents and herself had vacationed in Paris for one week. The had looked liked such measly tourists she reckoned; her father consistantly re-adjusting his glasses as he read sheepishly - and most likely inaccurately - from a French handbook. Her mother had been no help for the poor girl's embarrassment whatsoever, purposely speaking louder when several Paris natives couldn't even fathom her father's broken French. Embarrassing as hell. If it were not for their book-smart daughter practically reading the book the entire night and practicing pronunciation for hours in front of a vanity, than they surely would have found themselves in even more of a tiff.

She must have been somewhat alright, because Gabrielle beamed even more so and whispered, "Mieux, maintenant que vous êtes ici."

The brunette quirked an eyebrow in confusion; Fleur seemed to be enthralled with their interaction, however, and she laughed throatily at the furrow of Hermione's brow. A part of her wanted to grumble like a petulant child, and the quickly overwhelming part of her wanted to grab the young French girl and shake her and demand to know what she said. And maybe have the younger girl teach her the beautiful language without the embarrassment of having a scrutinizing Fleur and her never-ending amusement of Hermione's fear to even speak the language - understandably so, in case she made an arse of herself.

Fleur's rescue was appreciated; it was on a humiliating level, of course. "Gabrielle iz 'appy 'ou 'ave joined us tonight, 'Ermione."

Her smile was genuine. "I have missed the both of you, but I haven't had -"

Hurt and curiosity raged wars on the younger Delacour's face at the proclamation. Her older sister seemed much less concerned, grasping the spoonful of bouillabaisse and pouring an unhealthily small portion into her bowl. At first Hermione was just teasingly tapering off from her sentence; now concern raged within her and she found herself genuinely at a loss for words. And the way the spoon caressed Fleur's delicate lips each time she took only a dainty sip at a time, it made the younger woman's stomach churn - an uncomfortable twisting of her intestines.

With each second of the pronounced silence, Gabrielle blanched and once more tried to re-align herself within Hermione's considerably distracted vision. The brunette hadn't even realized that her arms were moving out of Gabrielle's concerned grip; the younger girl's grip was frighteningly strong and it only tightened with each shrug of Hermione's shoulders. The brunette didn't notice; she was beyond disconcerted.

A harsh frown marred her features. "Is that all you have eaten today, Fleur?"

Fleur had stiffened at the young witch's observance, a pale blonde eyebrow quirked almost imperceptively at the bowl in front of her vision. That former annoyance flashed across her face for the briefest of seconds; it made Hermione huff with a righteous amount of anger as the French woman's lips pursed. She was allowed to be concerned about a friend, and she sure as hell was not going to receive a tantrum of self-righteousness and fake normality from the stubborn blonde woman.

She could hear a snicker from across her way as she forcefully grabbed Fleur's bowl in her hands. The woman looked furious as she tried to snatch it back; her French was hissed between gritted teeth and - even Hermione could determine their meaning - a few curse words were spewed waspishly. It wasn't necessarily in a hostile fashion, because she knew that Fleur was a prideful woman and she didn't want any fuss over her, despite how minor. She acknowledged that her concern seemed the most fearsome and unwelcome to the French witch.

It hurt, and the brunette didn't know why.

She poured more bouillabiasse into the the blonde's bowl; those manicured hands were attempting a firm grasp but were shockingly clumsy in her weak attempt to capture her bowl back. Hermione could already feel the anger pouring off of the woman in waves; it was almost as stifling as the avid curiosity that was bestowed upon them by the wondering eyes of the Beauxbaton clan.

Gabrielle was chortling.

That one brunette - that Hermione still maddeningly didn't know the name of - looked on with nothing but a raised eyebrow; it was as if they were an old-bantering couple, and the French brunette idly twirled her stew in her bowl as she watched the two with curiosity and a seemingly morbid amusement. Her shining eyes spoke volumes of mischief - this look, Hermione definitely was familiar with - and it clashed oddly with her aura of content.

It was bloody awful.

"F-Fleur Delacour! You stop that this instant! You are acting like an immature little girl who isn't getting her way -"

Fleur looked stunned, offended, and baffled; there was a multitude of facial expressions that did nothing to stop Hermione from her rant.

" -And you need to keep your health up. Bouillabaisse is actually considered very healthy for you -"

Gabrielle was giggling in hysterics; the brunette's - yes, the mysterious one - entire face reflected pure amusement. The other girls just looked seemingly curious and mystified as Fleur continuously looked offended; her beautiful pastel lips were parted slightly, her blue eyes reflecting anger and bafflement, and her arm was currently residing at an odd angle in the air. The oblivious and blathering brunette next to her just continued endlessly, placing the - now overflowing - blonde's bowl back in front of her with a determined gaze.

The said brunette couldn't fathom the emotions of a teenage French witch. The best way she could seemingly describe it would be a muggle light-switch; not that there was a magical one, of course. One second they could be raging at someone and artfully planning their death warrent, and the next they could be gazing at that said person - Hermione - like they were the most abstract and beautiful thing they had ever seen. It was absolutely maddening! And-and completely and utterly frustrating! But those blue eyes were boring into her own -

Hermione's cheeks infused with red.

Fleur's gaze was indescribable; it was heated - almost radiating - and gentle simultaneously. A pastel pink lip was encased between pearly whites as the gaze remained, and all the sounds faded from the Great Hall in one fluid motion. She wasn't sure if she was simply lost in a daydream; completely barmy and wondering if everyone's face was actually a brightly-infused blur. Or she could be scarily conscious, her own vision beginning to fail and her own ears faltering out of abuse; with what's happened the past few years, she surmised that loss of hearing and sight would actually be a light punishment; compared to Basilisks and Werewolves and deep, murky lakes.

She on the last stage of acceptance - she's always been certifiably insane, according to Ronald - when her world tilts on its axis as a warm hand nimbly grasps her own.

Everything is clear once more; no longer blurred faces surround her and the sound of chattering greets her sensitive ears.

Her own fingers rub at her temple, and confusion settles in quite abruptly. Fleur's fingers are still encased with her own, and the blonde's concerned murmurs flitter over her muddled mind. She tried her best at a placating smile, weakly squeezing the fingers between her own and gesturing with her head toward the bowl in front of the blonde.

"Please, you need your strength. I-I'll be fine."

Fleur's brows are furrowed deeply, and she opens her mouth at first to protest. She must see the raw pleading in Hermione's dark eyes, because she nods jerkily after a moment and grasps at the spoon in the bowl. She sips at it daintily, almost reluctantly, but she continues on as her eyes flicker toward Hermione every so often. And the brunette _knows_ that it's simply for her sake that Fleur continues eating until she gradually finishes. And she knows that something has been knocked sideways; it was her miniature goblet in their squabble and more so her strenous mind.

Fleur's blue eyes were staggering, and her veins were all connected through more than just blood. It felt like adrenaline.

Gabrielle was rigid in her seat.

Mystery brunette seemed fascinated.

It took deep, even breaths to try to slow herself down, but she felt inable. She was running again; running from a monster with red eyes. But this time it had drawn her in and consumed her whole; it was terrorizing her mind and victimizing her in a completely addicting way. Her throat constricted and the ghost of Viktor's lips on her cheek burned almost viciously. Feminine lips placed themselves in the exact same spot.

"Zank 'ou," was whispered.

The voice was husky and the hand grasping hers tightened almost...

_Possessively?_

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_Hogsmeade Village: The Next Day. 11 Days Until The Third Task. 2:35PM._

Hermione wouldn't deny that she was having a wonderful time.

Viktor - no matter how occassionally quiet or surly at times- definitely had admirable knowledge when it came to literature. It wasn't just the Dark Arts that Durmstrang obviously favoured; it was everything. It was from Laxia Day's The Magic and Muggle Sciences to even a standard book of wizarding charms. And while others may immediately stereotype him as a knockhead quidditch player, he most certainly wasn't. He was considerably smart and while Hermione was completely fascinated by his logical reasonings, she couldn't help but be a little on edge.

Viktor's knowledge just reminded Hermione of exactly what Harry was facing in the upcoming task. Not only was he inevitably facing Merlin-knows-what, but he also had older Champions that were just around every corner. While the Champions were banned from purposely harming one another, it was still rather frightening to know that they could easily hold their own.

Harry was smart, and she was the first to acknowledge this. But he was still young; he was hot-headed and impulsive, as much as she hated to say it, and she found that particularly worrisome. Sure, he had faced things that no other had the courage or bravery to confront, but luck and friends and impulsiveness only went so far. He was a genuinely talented wizard, but there was still so much that he needed to grow into - all of them, even her, admittedly - and mature in a level-headed fashion.

She was scared for him; she couldn't think of a time of when she _wasn't._

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes in concentration, shaking her unruly curls to rid herself of any negative thoughts.

They had eleven days and they would be fine. They would turn Crouch Jr. into Dumbledore and they could get him to admit his currently dangerous plan. Well, if she could convince Harry in eleven days to do so; she would do it with or without him. It would cause a strain in the their friendship, hell, maybe permanently damage it forever. But she absolutely refused to just sit and watch Harry - once again - put himself in immediate danger. She was tired of being the logical one and baby-sitting Harry and Ron.

It was going to stop.

" -And da hills are extraordinary. Ve always cast spells to preserve da Spring."

She shook her head forcefully and she smiled convincingly up at the relaxed form of Viktor. He wasn't over-bearing in any way, like grasping her hand or leading her forcefully into Zonko's or Madame Puddifoot's like most couples - which, by the way, were they even a couple? She didn't know if he thought of them as one, but it left a pang in her chest when she realized that she would have to be honest with the boy.

She took a deep breath. "Viktor, look, you've really been a wonderful guy -"

Hermione winced at her own tactless intermission, watching as the surly boy trailed off with a confused frown. This wasn't some ridiculous romantic novel where the princess or the (insert leading lady here) heroine of misfortune turned down a handsome proposal to instead pursue her true love. She had read plenty of her mother's novels and they always made her cringe considerably; completely overdone and even gag worthy for a girl such as Parvati Patil. It was cliche and hopeless and Hermione felt like she was cheating herself and Viktor with such a shallow dismissal.

She grasped his elbow gently and pulled them both to a stop; she vaguely noticed that they were in front of the Hog's Head. The sign was wooden and completely chipped at the edges; she didn't know if it were done artfully and purposely or if this infamous run-down bar really was a shite-hole. It didn't matter to her, because very little Hogwart's students and patrons alike visited this place. It gave her the ability to have a full conversation with Viktor privately and not completely unsettle herself with hoards of people swimming in those mold-crusted swinging doors.

The barkeep looked old and irritated as she lead him just inside; not taking a seat and ordering drinks, but attempting to continue on quietly as they settled against the side wall just on the inside. They probably looked suspicious, because the barkeep was polishing mugs with a very unsanitary rag and his gray eyes were flashing.

"I won'ta be sellin' yer kids any Firewhiskey."

_Sod off, _her mind scoffed. Viktor glared at the barkeep; she felt reasonably guilty as he turned to face her with that same confunded frown as before, placing himself noticeably between her and the wandering eyes of two hooting men. He was so nice and she would have thought that this would be a fantasy of hers.

"Vat is wrong, Herm-Own-Ninny?"

Her hands were trembling, but luckily it wasn't noticeable with her pink jumper on. She breathed evenly and looked up into his eyes respectively, because he deserved that much at least. His eyes read hers, and his downturned lips appeared even more so in that moment. It hurt her just a little bit, but she honestly couldn't help it.

Acceptance and knowing flashed in his darkened eyes, and Hermione felt the relief that he was woefully observant when he shouldn't be. But it helped her out loads, because this is the first time in her life that she couldn't quote some book or inspirationally loosen tense flesh with beautiful and logical words. This was actually real and happening; Hermione felt a little guilt rear its ugly head when she realized that she almost felt _giddy _that she was having her first real relationship break-up. Well, they were not really together and they sort of were, so it was dreadfully confusing -

"I vonder if this is for Potter."

His tone wasn't accusing or patronizing, it was merely curious and a tad bitter. His eyes were wonderous and vague simultaneously; curious, yet revealing nothing of his true emotions. It reminded her a little bit of Fleur and she instantly felt her heart speed up for unknown reasons. She frowned frustratingly.

"It is," he murmured, "I can see it."

"No!" Her voice was high-pitched "I-I don't like Harry that way."

His eyebrow quirked up in scepticism, and she realized that she really couldn't blame him for his concerns. Her and Harry were threateningly close, despite recent arguments - in which she knew she was right - and anyone from the outside probably would suspect something. But she wouldn't deny that she full-heartedly respected Viktor right now, because he was asking the personal questions to her face and not annoyingly assuming everything like the whole of Hogwarts. He had never once questioned her when Rita Skeeter verbally assaulted her; he would just scowl distastefully when he saw The Daily Prophet in the library. He had unknowingly comforted her and defended her dignity. She most certainly respected him.

She squared her shoulders and met his eyes with her own hardening irises; she was being honest and she needed him to see it. She disregarded the barkeep hissing out about lover's quarrels and met Viktor's gaze head on, her own jumper beginning to feel too tight and too heated on her small frame. She was burning; from the honest heat or from embarrassment she didn't know.

"Look, I-it has absolutely nothing to do with Harry -" she struggled, "You have been such a gentlemen and I respect you for it -"

Viktor was already nodding. Resigned, obviously.

" -And any girl would go mad for a simple glance from you, but -"

His left hand grasped her shoulder tightly; it was edging on discomfortable, but she knew the firm squeeze held complete innocence and more than little understanding. She found herself lucky, because she knew not everyone was quite as observant as the athlete in front of her. He could have raged; flipped chairs, cursed in Bulgarian, and question his own insecurities and fester on them for a reasonable amount of time. She had to remind herself that he was seventeen years old, and, like Harry - though under most definitely less severe circumstances - he had been forced to grow up fast with his fame.

Relief was blossoming and an anchor that had been residing on her shoulders lifted. It was a beautiful feeling and it made her sigh in complete comfort. She had always hated the feeling of guilt;it was the one emotion that people could never forget. People found themselves over previous loves and previous grudges, but guilt could be eternal. And while she reckoned she was being a bit dramatic, she felt she was allowed to this once. She felt like a normal teenage girl for once, being overly-emotional and dreading the first break-up.

"-But you are not dat girl," he finished. Acceptance brimmed from his voice.

"No, I am not," she murmured.

His hand slowly fell from her shoulder, and she could only watch with a - hopefully mutual - admiration as he slowly backed away from her. His light brown eyes were softened considerably, and even as his back pressed against the moldy and paint-chipped doors his lips continued to quirk upwards.

It was a friendly farewell, and it was everything she could have hoped it would be.

xxxxxxxxx _One Hour Later_

Grass blades were slowly trickling down into her sneakers in a most comfortable manner. They had been walking the all too familiar walk up toward the hiding place of a very familiar friend. The hadn't seen Snuffles in - excuse her badly inducted pun - a dog's age. Letters had been arriving all the more frequent, but they hadn't of had the opportunity the visit the infamous cave in quite awhile. It was the smart thing; Fudge had the Dementors scrounging non-stop for any trace on Sirius Black, and to stay in the same spot at one time? Not bright at all.

She had faith in the unkempt godfather. He was mercilessly mischevious, but he was irrevocably clever. His antics reminded her of Fred and George Weasley more often than not, which drove her to pure insanity at times, but then he also held this overwhelmingly profound sadness. He hid it by turning his head away from Harry when the boy did something that undoubtedly reminded him of James, but she was always able to catch the slouch in his body and the crinkles around his eyes became more prominent. It was difficult to survey at times.

"How was your date with 'Vicky'?"

She nearly growled as she stomped up the hill. The scenery was probably the most gorgeous thing she had ever seen. It was springtime, so the grass was quickly resuming that delightful shade of green. The flowers were blooming and blossoming; the current field they were in contained an exceptional array of wild flowers. Colours were over-lapping and the air seemed more crisp than usual. It was borderline imaginary, and she almost surmised that Dumbledore had charmed this field to exude this much content. Well, aside from two dolts, it was almost perfect...

"Don't call him that, Ron! And it is none of your business as to how we spend our time together."

"It does if it concerns Harry! Fraternizing with'a enemy an' all -"

Harry quickly interjected, "I don't mind if she's seeing Viktor. He seems like a nice bloke."

He was giving her a slight nod of acquiescence when her head snapped around to face him. It was rather lovely; they could be fighting - which was currently the issue - and they could temporarily hate each other with a roaring passion, but they would always be there for each other. It was nice to recall that particular fact in the midst of all this terror and confusion. She just hoped it would not return to bite her viciously in the arse.

Ron still looked boggled. "Mate, you canno' be serious -"

"I am," Harry snapped, uncharacteristically vicious. "Can we please focus on Sirius and worry about who Hermione is snogging later?"

Ron's mouth closed rather abruptedly and his face turned a magnificent shade of magenta. His hazel eyes were rather discontent as his head turned to survey the surroundings on his left; his avoidance at looking at her directly was abundantly clear. It confunded her slightly, and left her throat feeling wollowed up in admitting the fact -not out loud, for Merlin's sake - that even Ron could be potentially enigmatic at certain times. He was immature and crass; crude and insufferable; but there was a certain charisma that left you wondering at just what it specifically was.

She was sure she didn't think of Ron in the romantic sense; they bickered endlessly and he could be completely disrespectful. Admittedly, she could be a right prude sometimes, but she had always considered it to be in her nature. It was just who she was. And Harry - while he could be annoyed with it at times - had accepted it. Ron just couldn't seem to grasp it. Just like she couldn't grasp his playful outlook on life and the way he just didn't take his future too seriously. He -like Harry - lived for the now and she lived for the present _and_ the future.

Sure, her and Ron were great friends, but they just couldn't grasp each other. If it were that way in friendship than it would most certainly pertain to a romantic entanglement as well. She couldn't even imagine snogging Ron and getting an inkling of anything other than emptiness.

His eyes were glancing toward her as they trapsied forth.

They were questioning. She turned her head away when she thought she saw a sliver of jealousy slip through at Harry's remark. She had snogged Viktor; several times, to be perfectly honest. She had felt him. and it was honestly none of Ron's damn business as to what she has and hasn't done with any bloke. She was bright and clever and someone like Ron Weasley didn't need to be her protecter. And she just knew his mind wasn't just on protector; something far more difficult was nagging through his brain and he seemed to be realizing it and coming to terms with it. His mind screamed _potential lover _upon finally realizing that she was certainly nothing less than a young woman.

She sighed in relief when they reached the entrance of the dark cave.

Rogue murmurings and the fluttering of wings grew in-depth as they stumbled forward. It had the faintest of echoes as it revolved around the grimy cave walls and their excited beings. It had been several months since they had last frequented Sirius and Buckbeak and this now familiar cave, and despite the obvious rule-breaking and the hint of fear at the framed man being caught, she had missed them. But she was nothing in comparison to Harry, who was practically trembling with excitement as the two worn and slighty exhausted forms came completely into view. Harry's hand grasped hers nimbly as he all but yanked her forward.

Sirius had most definitely seen better times.

She had seen some older pictures of him; this courtesy of a weepy Hagrid and a curious Harry. He had been a strapping young lad from what she had seen. With the straggly hair, the aristocratic Black features and the piercing eyes, girls had probably fawned shamelessly over him. He had looked so young and carefree in those pictures with the Potter's; they had been young and had thought that nothing was standing in the way of their youth. Their future possibilities had been endless; until they hadn't been. Now death had taken that away and left nothing but misery behind. It was apparent in his eyes whenever he layed eyes on Harry. It must be devestating to have only one thing left in the world and to have it completely resemble the thing that you lost

Now rags and intricate tattoos spread across his dirty and thin form. It was lankier than the last time she remembered, and it didn't take a bright witch to realize that he probably hadn't had a decent meal in quite a long time. She squinted, because there was a form inked on his neck that hadn't been there the last time they visited. It was slightly difficult to make out, with his head turned in their direction the rest of the ink flowing down into his rank jumper. Instead of opening her mouth and questioning something that probably didn't concern her, she released Harry's hand as she fiddled with the straps of her knapsack.

"_Harry!"_

The black-haired boy had embraced the wanted criminal like he was a long-lost family member. Which he sort of was, in a sad sense.

Harry was almost Sirius's height now, with his messy black hair just reaching the top of his godfather's ear as they held each other desperately. She almost felt like she was intruding on something private, and she gestured her head at Ron as she moved off to the side to check on a ruffled Buckbeak, who had raised his head in inquisition as the two approached. She bit her lip nervously as she bowed her head, lightly thwapping Ron in the stomach when he failed to do the same. She stepped forward as the majestic creature bowed his head back, almost seeming too tired to care nowadays.

He had a large scratch on his beak, and positioned was one of his talons at an odd angle.

Sympathy swelled within her as she knelt in front of the creature; she could vaguely hear Harry and Sirius having a whispered conversation and she purposely tried to block them out.

"Here you are, 'Beaky'," she cooed, pulling out a few skived rolls from her knapsack.

The creature's intense eyes zeroed in on the food in her hands, and before she could even blink Buckbeak had made a desperate gargle in the back of its throat and gobbled the exceptional portion down. Even Ron could never surpass the sheer intensity and speed of Buckbeak; the poor thing looked so thin that it made Hermione believe that Sirius was bluffing in his attempts to persuade Harry that they had found a residence. They both looked so worn and exhausted she surmised that they must stay in a different place every night.

Without even realizing it, she had slapped half-heartedly at Ron's hand; it was pathetically clenched tight around a chicken leg. She didn't even need to know that his eyes rang with guilt when he handed the dry food back to her, his hands wiping at his legs awkwardly as Harry and Sirius finally seemed to end their conversation.

"Those are for Sirius, Ronald."

"Sorry, 'Mione," he shuffled, standing up and stretching his long and gangly legs.

"I believe I heard my name over here."

A roughened hand fell on her shoulder in a deceptively gentle fashion, and she turned to face the ragged owner. Sirius's eyes were dampened with supressed worry as he gazed at her. They came together in a hug almost as naturally as him and Harry had, and that pleasantly suprised Hermione, because she had never felt the particular closeness that Harry seemed to feel; for obvious reasons, of course. But then she realized that this man didn't have much, and the things he did have he cherished more than anything.

His long arms tightened around her and her nose scrunched up at the smell of dirt, sweat, and the general uncleanliness from the man. She was much too polite to ever say anything about that, especially in his current situation, and it made her hug him all the tighter. She remembered the gratitude in his eyes when she saved him, and the way he gazed at her with something she couldn't quite place. Like he had met her before.

It made her recall a certain conversation with a former professor of theirs.

_"So it's true?" She swallowed hard. "You are getting kicked out of Hogwarts then?"_

_Remus Lupin's tired eyes surveyed her from where he stood by his desk, flicking his wand defeatedly as the objects across the room scattered and rearranged their places. His gray robes were ripped and frayed; they were almost matching the right side of his face, heart-breaking as that was. Despite all this, he gave her a kind smile._

_"The parents don't believe this a fitting place for a Werewolf, and seeing what happened last night -"_

_He paused painfully and swallowed, his arms stiffening as he seemed to recollect those fearful hours of when he had lost control. Hell, he had even chased after her for Merlin's sake and you didn't see her waving a resignation flag to his scarred face. Sure, he was a dangerous creature, but everything in the magical world was dangerous; the quicker people came to terms with this, the better. Whether it be House-Elves or Werewolves, every unique creature should be given equality in her opinion. She could feel the outrage quickly blossoming and her throat closed up painfully as his eyes glossed over with slight hurt._

_Every Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher that had walked through these halls had been positively ghastly thus far. Remus Lupin was a kind man and undeniably the best professor that had ever taught the children in this classroom. He just had this certain technique and patience about him; it made children just unconsciously relax in his presence, even though he was frighteningly upfront about the darkness that lurked out in the magical world. It made her unbelievably angry._

_"This is absolute rubbish," she shook her head forcefully, her curls bouncing and her lips trembling._

_He had taken several steps toward her rigid form already, his eyes softening and his head cocking to one side. His hand tentatively grasped her elbow and he opened his mouth quietly. Hermione could only watch him as he surveyed her almost adoringly; the tears in her eyes could not supress the vision of his eyes boring into her own, his thumb rubbing circles on her elbow almost unconsciously._

_"You are so much like Lily...," his voice is reminiscent; the whisper sounds anguished and it's as if the clouds purposely darkened outside._

_Hermione's breath hitched at the man's words; this was probably the highest compliment she could ever receive from the man. Even Minerva McGonagall's eyes would glaze over in fondness whenever someone mentioned the woman and her accomplishments. From what Hagrid and an eager Harry had said, Lily Evans had been quite an exceptional witch. But it wasn't just her intelligence that everyone seemed to be sweet on, or her beauty - which she apparently had quite a line of hopeful suitors in her day - and general looks, it had been her kindness. She recalled a teary-eyed Harry relaying the information that Lupin had told him to her._

_His smile had been bright that day, as did his emerald eyes. A sense of pride had revolved around him the rest of that day, and Lupin's words of Lily must have been beyond the highest of praises. It was beautiful in a way, until she remembered that time was never on anyone's side; it could take something away as quick as it could create it. It was tragic at how his parent's could have accomplished even more than they already had. And it's as if Remus was reminded of this everytime he gazed at Hermione. It was almost as if he was looking at someone else everytime he saw her._

_"Thank you," she whispers, throat constricted._

She shook her head forcefully when her name was called. The looks of worry and confusion on their faces alerted her that she must have been lost in her own memories for quite sometime. She attempted a weak smile as Sirius cocked his head to the side from where he stood, now across the cave and several feet away from her.

She couldn't exactly say why she avoided his sharp and questioning eyes; maybe a part of her - the slightly arrogant and over-contemplating part - didn't want to cause him any pain or misery. She didn't want to unintentionally trigger anything that might remind of him of Lily or any part of his past. Inwardly she began scoffing at herself, because Harry was a spitting image of James and there wasn't any way that Sirius couldn't not think of the past every damn day of his life when he surveyed the younger boy. She met his eyes across the cave in slight trepidation.

They flashed with that familiar gloss of fondness, but it disappeared so fast that she would have questioned herself if she hadn't of seen it before.

The silence ran rampant throughout the cave as she awkwardly tossed her knapsack over to Sirius, who fumbled with it momentarily as he tried to open the clasps. The gratitiude in his eyes was overwhelming when he stumbled across several knicked rolls and a couple of chicken legs wrapped gingerly and pristinely in a white napkin. The noises of desperation and hunger echoed in the cave as Sirius - not that she could blame him - threw etiquette and patience out of the window as he attacked the food like a starving man who never got any real food. Which was exactly what he was.

He seemed suprisingly boisterous. "If it wasn't for good ole' Hermione here -"

_Crunch._

" -And her kind consideration -"

_Garble._

" -I would probably die of starvation tonight."

Hermione grinned a little at the man's positive attitude, even though she did wince a little when he swallowed painfully and his eyes watered. It's almost like her wasn't even tasting the food, because he was devouring it so stead-fastedly that even Ron was watching in pure amazement. Harry just seemed so relaxed that he didn't even notice Sirius's disgusting eating habits or Ron's overall jumpiness or Hermione's anxiety to talk to Sirius. This was the first time he smiled - genuinely smiled - in quite awhile. And despite the uncomfortable atmosphere and the unspoken conversation that lingered in the air, it was almost perfect.

Buckbeak trilled relaxingly from his little bed of newspapers; the Daily Prophet, Hermione secretly hoped, was the little area for all of his droppings.

Sirius had sunk his form into the cave wall across from her, rubbing his stomach in a content fashion and almost looking relaxed. If it weren't for his subtle glances in her and Harry's directions, she could almost fool herself into thinking that they didn't have the burden of death hanging over their heads. But she knew the conversation that was about to take place, and she dreaded it with her very being. Harry would no doubt lose his temper with her for conveying all the recent happenings to Sirius without his consent. It was why she had written him in the first place, demanding that he talk sense into the boy.

Sirius seemed to sense the impending explosion from Harry as well, so he treaded lightly into the conversation.

"How's training for the final round comin' along, pup?"

Harry's shoulders slouched guiltily as he pointedly avoided everyone's expectant gazes.

"It's goin' alright, I s'ppose," he muttered.

Sirius hummed in a decidedly skeptical fashion, tossing his leftover bones to Buckbeak with a grin. He met Hermione's annoyed gaze across the cave and gave her a nearly imperceptive nod; he was obviously as concerned about Harry as she was, and she knew he was about to give a firm talking to pertaining to staying alive by any means necessary. This was probably going to be done in a typical Sirius fashion; blatant profanity, un-eloquence, and basically a no-nonsense 'what the hell are you doing' tone. Maybe that's what Harry truly needed right now, and not her admittedly haughty and mother-ish approach to scolding.

Ron seemed to stay neutral with the obviously upcoming argument, twiddling his thumbs and looking worriedly between his two best friends. One of which who was currently glaring in anger and the other of whom met her eyes in a challenging gaze. Sirius just clasped his hands repectively behind his back and walked determinedly between the two stewing teenagers, his grin seemingly light-hearted but his dark eyes rang with seriousness. Hermione made a noise of pure disbelief and Harry narrowed his gaze on her once more, obviously opening his mouth to tell her off...

It was like a spell went off and everyone - excluding a sighing Sirius Black - suddenly jumped down each other's throats.

"_Don't_ give me that look, Hermione! All you've done is nag me since -"

"If you would actually put forth effort into saving your life we wouldn't be here -"

Ron snarled at the both of them, _"Bloody hell _you two, get your heads out'ta yer arses -"

_" _-This tournament started and I'm getting damn sick of it -"

_"_ -And it's always me that has to push you forth to study! Who helped you learn the summoning charm?! Who jumped in the -"

Hermione didn't know how long this arguing match went on for. She just knew that she had angry tears welling in her eyes; her fists were clenched tightly and her nails kept digging continuously into the palm of her hand painfully. Her already voluptuous hair felt like it was crackling with energy and getting even thicker with every shout of anger; her chest, amusingly enough, was also feeling particularly lighter with every single dig thrown each other's way. Like this explosive argument had been building non-stop ever since Crouch Jr's discovery and their very first disagreement.

She could tell, even through her angry tears and Sirius's protective form, that It was seemingly doing the exact same thing for Harry. If Hermione weren't so frustrated and completely raging artfully and aggressively at his prowling form, she might call him beautiful in that moment in time. His cheeks were a blazen rosemary red; it started from his still boyish cheeks and it trailed magnificently down his neck. His emerald eyes were narrowed and on fire, and she absolutely hated that she was the object of his ire this time 'round. Everyone once in a while he would stop gesturing wildly with his wand and he would pace back and forth like a caged animal, still shouting obscenities at her, of course. She would fancy him like all of those giggling fangirls if she didn't know him so well.

Harry and Ron were like the siblings she never had, and it hurt to even be in this position at all. She could remember Sirius's echo of _'Help Harry as much as possible in this tournament,' _and she almost felt nauseous that all they were getting accomplished was yelling at one another like mindless banshees and being prats.

Buckbeak was trilling annoyingly from his little area; the intelligent creature seemingly knew that aura had escalated and he was warning them off. Ron seemed to be doing the same, if his cursing at the two of them didn't already tip them off. But Sirius was the only neutral participant to truly take action, brandishing his black wand and flicking it towards the two of them and wrapping them in ropes nonverbally. They twined around her slowly, tauntingly; they were reminding her how stupid they were being and that it had to result in them getting tied up.

Harry seemed angry compared to her defeat, snapping at Sirius and struggling on the floor momentarily before his shoulders hunched over defeat. His gaze was still narrowed on her and Sirius, but he made no further move to open his mouth and argue once more, let alone struggle against the ropes. Ron was just watching on with wide eyes.

"Sorry 'bout that," chirped Sirius. His tone held anything but remorse; she detected a hint of cheerfulness, actually.

Ron just rubbed his hands on his pants nervously, sitting down after a moment and just surveying the two of them with disbelieving eyes. Normally it was him and Hermione bickering foolishly at each other with no qualms, but he and Hermione had never quite reached that level of anger in any of their encounters; the two had actually had their wands out and pointing at each other in an aggressive manner. Sure, they probably weren't going to actually fire any spells at each other, but it was still the aspect of it. Besides, Harry and Hermione had never truly argued that much, and watching them interact in a most hostile manner was mind-boggling. This was ridiculous.

"If you two _children _are done arguing, " Sirius whistled and sat back leisurely, "then we can get to the real reason of this visit."

Harry's eyes met hers from a little across the cave. He still looked more than a little furious, but his emerald depths were beginning to tinge with regret and he nodded his head in a sign of truce. She nodded right back without any hesitation, relief in her chocolate eyes that they were hopefully about to settle this in an adult way.

Sirius faced her suddenly, and all humor was erased from his face. "Was it true what you said in the letter, Hermione?"

"Yes," she whispered, flickering her eyes over to Harry's confused face before facing Sirius with nothing but honesty.

"That is not good." He was standing up now, all relaxation gone from his shoulders as he crossed his arms and stared at the wall in a distracted manner.

Harry and Ron were glancing in between the two of them now, unconscious frowns flickering over their faces as the air seemingly got more humid. It was like all the happiness had been sucked out of the cave and nothing was left but a serious problem that needed to be resolved and quick. It bubbled up in her throat and her mouth gained a very dry edge to it; it was like cotton was blossoming in her mouth and gums and it hurt to even swallow at this point in time. Her chest gave a soft twinge, because Harry was not gonna be happy.

Sirius sighed, "How can everyone here be so completely foolish? There is a known Death Eater impersonating an auror, and no one has_ told _Dumbledore or at least_ informed _an authority figure?!"

His voice rose in pitch at the very end, his rapidly darkening eyes narrowing on all three of them. Hermione felt a chill shoot over her body at the man's face; he looked considerably furious, as he should. This was his godson and action should have been taken the second they had found out. Pure self-remorse welled within her, because she could have disregarded Harry and Ron's foolish logic and immediately informed Dumbledore. She could've been helping Harry train each night for the Third Task, even though she had no inkling as to what it actually was. She could have done more research over it...

Harry and Ron looked at her in a betrayed fashion and Hermione promptly rolled her eyes at them, opening her mouth automatically in self-defense when Harry looked ready to have out another round of arguing with her. But before any of this could even happen, in the blink of an eye, Sirius shot sparks out of his wand in warning.

"Don't you two start in on Hermione. She did what was right by informing me."

Harry opened his mouth angrily, "We could handle it ourselves -"

Sirius's face scrunched in fury then, and it was fascinating the way his thin body suddenly looked twice in size. The raging sparks had suddenly developed into fire; it was a raging inferno, and Buckbeak let a little squawk of fear escape his beak as backed away slowly from the scene on his hunches. The former-Azkaban native took no notice, as he was glaring ferociously at his godson. And it was subtle at first; a chest huffing at a racing speed, steadily picking up the pace as the huffing grew louder and more intense in its depth. Sirius actually looked mad now, his face twisted in an almost sinister smile - edging on sarcasm, no doubt - and his black eyes showing an almost emptiness...

And his maddening laughter was completely disconcerting, making her shudder into the ropes that binded her.

"_THAT'S RIGHT!"_ He roared, directly at Harry.

Horrified emerald eyes took in Sirius's apparent loss of control, and the muscles in his body looked supremely taught as he struggled against his bindings. His throat bobbed nervously as he tried to escape his raging godfathers sudden descent into apparent madness. It was utterly terrifying, but at the same time, something in Hermione's head was telling her that this was what he deserved. If Harry was going to continue acting like a rash child then maybe he should get a wake up call. And it apparently came in the form of a tall and skinny ex-convict. With tattoos and glittering black eyes that dared Harry to challenge him. Even their red-headed friend failed at a witty remark.

No sarcasm was spared. "Because apparently you can handle everything, Harry."

Harry looked furious.

_"Don't!" _Sirius snapped.

Suprisingly, Harry obediantly slammed his mouth shut abashedly, sinking further against his bindings.

Ron was looking on with wide eyes between everyone. For the smallest second, he had almost looked prepared to jump immediately to his best friend's defense, but something had stopped him just as quick. That's when Hermione noticed that very familiar look across his face; the look of being completely torn. He held this look many times throughout the years, when Hermione would say something to him and he would whip out a hurtful retort. There was always that brief look that flittered across his face before he said something right back to her. And this was it. Ron didn't come to Harry's defense. His hazel eyes locking in on her form instead, he then looked determined. And decided.

Sirius sounded exhausted. "James and Lily didn't sacrifice themselves just for you to continue on being reckless."

His hand was clutching a protruding part of the rocky and grimy cave wall. He was clutching it almost desperately; angrily for sure, but now his movements were also tinged with more than a little exasperation. It made her swallow painfully and recall just how hard it is to care for someone and look out for them only to have them not truly notice. It hurt more than she was willing to admit.

"We were going to turn him in," Harry retorted, rather on the cold side.

Sirius hummed, sarcastically mollified. "When your body was discovered, yes?"

Hermione snorted in a very un-lady like manner and Harry visibly bristled and rolled his eyes. "No, before the Third Task."

Sirius looked exceedingly skeptical once more and Hermione joined him in their little glare-off against Harry. And it was as if Harry had lost all patience whatsoever with everyone there. With her raven-haired best friend there was always a discreet series of warning signs. When he was about to get furious and throw a little raging-fit, his emerald eyes would darken to an almosy murky green. They became almost swamp-like in their colour; his eyes would also narrow almost imperceptively while his cheeks flushed ever so slightly. But that wasn't what gave him away.

It was, startingly enough, his magic. Everyone knew that Harry had always been a rare case among wizards. It wasn't just his past or his back-story of fame, it was also the way he presented himself; shy, nervous, and completely rash when he wanted something done. But when something in him was angry or feeling like he was trapped in a corner, he would flare with almost impossible capabilities. Like his patronus last year with all of the dementors. It had flared brightly and its power had echoed beautifully over the lake and the entire region.

The magic surrounded him like a protective cocoon. It crackled with energy and fizzled around his form in a magnified gesture as to what he was feeling. And he was flaring now.

His eyes were murky and his cheeks were flushed; the air around them felt thick and she could've sworn she saw the air visibly lock itself into a bubble and expand through her as the breath escaped her lungs. Sirius was turned towards her and frowning, obviously upset. His eyes danced with amazement, however.

"He's being helped by Peter Pettigrew. That's the contact he's been going off grounds for and who helped him get to Hogwarts."

Rage flashed in Sirius's eyes, but he admirably detained it when he took a deep breath. "Do you have proof, Harry?"

Harry opened his mouth for several seconds, looking as if he would answer in the affirmative. But brief hesitation flashed in his currently malachite eyes; it was enough to tip off the already considerably irked Sirius and practically shout at him that this was just another reckless - beyond mindless - leap into the fray. Sirius almost looked at his godson hopelessly. Annoyance was present, certainly.

"You are - ," he scratched his head half-heartedly, "You just haven't any idea of what is going on, do ya boy?"

Hermione swallowed reflexively as her best friend further shrank into himself. His grimy, thin hands were limp in front of him and his expression expressed defeat. He seemed to acknowledge that this entire tournament was already a walking death-trap, and the fact that he was parading around so inconsistantly and not putting forth his all was complete bullocks. Maybe he was finally admitting what was at stake here. It wasn't just his life that was on the line anymore; something dark and wicked was raging under the surface, and there was eventually going to be an ending to it all. It wasn't necessarily the knowledge that there was an ending ahead that was particularly frightening. It was the complete naivety and the fear that they couldn't figure out what that ending actually was.

Because Voldemort didn't do anything lightly; he was calculating and a mastermind of the horrific sense. He never did anything half-arsed or just didn't happen to have a plan that had an inconsistencies. And it would be positively moronic to even try to deny that Tom Riddle was in this entire scheme. Like Hermione had previously mentioned before, the man - no, snake, if she were honest with herself - was anything but inconsistant in his plans to always off Harry.

Sirius had come to terms with this long ago. His hand was tightened on the thick rock, the sinews of his wrist and lower arm were bulging in tension. He now looked beyond fierce; he looked on the brink of considerably frightening. But it wasn't in the terrifying manner in the creatures they had stumbled across over the years, it was more along the lines of authority-like. He looked like he was a powerful foe, despite his aging, tawdy appearance.

His lips were tight. "You let me deal with whoever is helping him. And if it does happen to be Peter, well..."

His dark eyes grew distant, briefly flittering over the floor before his gaze latched frighteningly among the three of them. It was almost annoying; back and forth, back and forth, and his eyes flickered to the cave entrance more than once, a suddenly manic gleam in his eyes.

"If you three do not tell Dumbledore by tomorrow, you will have me to answer to."

She was vaguely aware of the protested sound that Harry made when Sirius turned his back on the three of them, gesturing weakly for Buckbeak to follow him towards the cave entrance. The creature just seemingly trilled and followed him like a creature would its master; or maybe just a creature who loved its master. The sounds of fading footsteps and expanding wings and fading backlash rang throughout the cave. All that remained was heaving breathing and grunts as they tried to escape their bindings.

Sirius looked back toward the darkness of the cave one final time as he mounted Buckbeak.

It made Hermione stiffen as she surveyed the look on his face - almost not even aware that Ron had cut through their ropes and was helping the two of them to their feet - as he looked back at the three of them. He looked almost vindictive; maybe _ready_, was what she could readily detect. _Tomorrow, _he mouthed.

His dark eyes flashed and Hermione thought for the briefest second that he actually looked like the grim.

/

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_Outskirts Of Hogwarts(Near The Beauxbaton Carriage): 1 Hour Later. Still 11 Days Until The Third Task._

_"You two go on ahead."_

She trudged along the path only half-heartedly; her gaze wasn't necessarily aimed at anything in particular. She just knew that she needed to think about things. After all the begging and fighting and almost-tears, they were finally going to come clean with Professor Dumbledore. Worry ran itself throughout her head relentlessly, because all of these scenarios were currently having it out and battling over her conflicted thoughts and slightly throbbing head. What if he did believe them, but others happened not to? Would Cornelius Fudge, that slightly close-minded and bought off excuse for the Minister of Magic, really actually believe their claims? Would he have several dementors at the ready, ready to put Crouch Jr. back in the horrifying hell that was known as Azkaban prison?

Or would he just thin his lips out and adjust the pudge in his robes and sneer while Dumbledore tried to reason with him? Her head throbbed and her clothes were more than a little dirty from being bound by ropes on a cave floor. Her unruly chocolate hair was tied back half-arsed on her right shoulder; she never thought she would ever want to go near the scary realms of make-up, thanks to Lavender and Parvati, but with the slight sweat that still lingered and the dirt smudged on her chin and the freckles on her nose standing out even more so because of her currently pallor complexion, she oh-so wished that she had some.

She snorted.

She hoped she didn't encounter any of the Beauxbaton girls, because surely they would be in fits of jealousy because of her graceful stumbling and her perfectly muddied up clothes and her absolutely flawless complexion and physique. So when she actually does come across some Beaubaton girls - to top off her night, Fleur just happens to be there as well - she nearly groans out loud.

It's not that she didn't like stumbling across her friend(s), but with her current being and slightly boggled state of mind, now just wouldn't be a good time. But fate always had like giving her a swift kick up the arse with its shoe that was probably embedded with some powerful poison or painful knife at the steel-toed end...

The girls were slightly giggling at something a pretty brunette was saying - Fleur excluded - and were light-heartedly trudging down the path from Hogwarts.

Hermione tried to swerve over to a pair of bushes - in a subtle manner, of course - in hopes that the beautiful girls didn't see her.

Luck was such a low-life git, because like every other time it had occured, Fleur's eyes swept over to her awkward form, as if she magically sensed Hermione was present. It made the brunette witch scoff and shake her head in annoyance; she would normally feel flattered that Fleur could always scout her out and notice her even in a large crowd, but right now it irritated the clever witch to no end. Because the French witch had done nothing wrong and Hermione's day had just gone swell - notice the sarcasm - and she was frantic about tomorrow and _now_ _was not a good time._

She swallowed as Fleur branched off from the other girls, a furrow between her brow and worry flashing through her eyes at her more than slightly disheveled state.

The blonde had stopped a few feet away from her, hesitantly reaching out her arm and grasping Hermione's elbow. It made the younger girl draw back slightly and give Fleur a forced grin; she tactfully tried to maneuver herself around Fleur, acting as if she were in a hurry. Which she kind of was - to get away from Fleur. See, her logic was logical in her mind.

"'Ermione?"

The blonde's voice was quiet, presumably to not alert the other girls that one of their own had disappeared.

Hermione's voice was slightly shaky, and she winced when it came out slightly cold. "Fleur, it's good to see you, but I'm in an awful hurry and I must be on my way -"

She turned around in hope that Fleur would give up all pretenses that Hermione wanted to have a friendly interaction and would simply rejoin her giggling group of friends. But the clever witch knew that Fleur had always been too stubborn and prideful for her own good, even matching Hermione's on many levels. The hand that had previously grasped her elbow re-grasped it tightly, making her twirl around and face a slightly confunded and hurt Fleur.

But the blonde's eyes raked over her form intimidatingly, the lines between her eyebrows becoming more prominant as she noticed the dirt and more than ruffled appearance up close. She opened her mouth hesitantly, almost sensing that Hermione had probably had a rough day; she was always so considerate that way, and it made Hermione slightly swoon. If this weren't Fleur Delacour and this was a potential suitor, he would have already had a date with her instantly. She shook her head at her deliriousness.

"Are 'ou feeling well, 'Ermione?"

Soft hands stroked her still slightly sweaty forehead, and she quickly snapped out of her daze.

"Fleur," she scolded, "I'm not exactly the most sanitary and clean person right now. You are probably going to get your hands all filthy because of me."

The blonde scoffed pointedly and continued her stroking; she moved from gentle wisps on Hermione's forehead to gently cupping the underside of her jaw and stroking her thumbs over her cheeks. If Hermione hadn't of felt ridiculously filthy and more than a little self-conscious of her hygiene and just about everything else, she would probably savour this tender moment. Her eyes slid shut for the briefest of moments against her wishes, her inner voice screaming at her to just leave, because Fleur would understand, and go and get cleaned up, eat a proper meal, and proceed to panic about tomorrow.

Her breathing was evening out, and her bloody eyes were still shut!

She snapped her eyes open forcefully, and met Fleur's gentle gaze. She opened her mouth, ready to make her escape, but somehow Fleur sensed this and she stalled the panicky younger woman. Fleur always could read her mind better than almost anyone else, and to her that was almost depressing, because she had only known Fleur for a few months.

"Eet iz ok. Go and get cleaned up and we will talk tomorrow, non?"

She sighed in relief and nodded, only startling slightly when she felt the gentle lips on her cheeks and a pristine white hankerchief being gently put into her hands by a softly smiling Fleur. But as she began to trudge off, squeezing her eyes shut to block off her inner images of Fleur's intense arctic eyes, the slightly fierce voice spoke out from behind her, making her twirl around in suprise.

Fleur looked a little bit more on edge than she had just mere seconds ago; her shoulders were tight and stiff and her jaw was clenched reasonably hard. She thought she saw the blonde twirling her hand in her robes and confusingly it seemed as if the blonde had ahold of her wand. Hermione frowned when Fleur's gaze cut right through her. She looked beyond intimidating and that made Hermione slightly tuck into herself unconsciously. That is one thing Fleur _did not_ notice, because her gaze was reaffirming itself with Hermione's dirty jumper.

"Did-did anyone hurt 'ou?"

The blonde's voice was like ice.'

Butterflies swarmed and took flight in her stomach at Fleur's overprotective nature, and she glanced at the ground to hide the heat that suddenly suffused her cheeks. Her palms had been sweaty beforehand, so there was absolutely no way that Fleur had anything to do with that. She could a deep breath and attempted to crush her inner-school girl, raising her head and meeting Fleur's intense gaze.

"No, Fleur. No one hurt me today." Her voice was more faint than she originally planned.

And as she turned around and walked away up towards Hogwarts, pretending not to hear Fleur's expelled breath of relief, she pointedly ignored the voice in her head.

_But you could someday._

She wasn't even sure herself what that meant.

_xxxxxxx_ _20 Minutes Later_

As soon as she was outside the Fat Lady and ready to go on in, a body came barreling out of it and straight into an unsuspecting Hermione.

"_OOF!"_

"Blimey, sorry Hermione!"

Hermione dazedly grasped Harry's hands as he pulled her slightly unsteadily to her feet, looking slightly guilty as she swayed for the briefest of moments. She tries to send him a placating grin, but it probably looked more along the lines of a pained grimace. She knew that the two of them needed to discuss tactics for tomorrow - and Ron too, perhaps - and plan out a strategy for confronting Professor Dumbledore. But she was truly exhausted and all she really could imagine doing right now is cleaning up and curling up with Crookshanks. No reading any of her texts - the thought made her nauseous - and planning ahead of homework, no contemplating on the Delacour sisters or trying to find out more about their heritage, and no discussion of Crouch Jr.

But she realized very quickly that she would not be getting hardly any sleep tonight. For one, Harry was practically _bouncing._ His emerald green eyes were unmistakably vibrant and alive, and he was practically on the edge of his toes as if he had a very entertaining story to tell. It made his best friend slightly worried, because she had only been away from them for maybe an hour or two, and something couldn't have surely happened. He was practically salivating at this point, grinning like one of the Weasley Twins who had too much firewhiskey.

She eyes him suspiciously. "What happened?"

He glances around quickly to see if they could possibly overheard, but seeing not even a ghost entertained that particular hall of Hogwarts, he drew his gaze back to her. He released a deep breath and he grabbed her hand, gesturing with his head toward the portrait hole.

"So we got back in the common room all worried, yeah?"

She nodded at her best friend as he kept his voice down to nearly a whisper.

"And we come across Fred and George and their friend, Lee Jordan."

She groans and rolls her eyes toward the ceiling pointedly, because there was absolutely _no way _that she had the patience to deal with any of their shenanigans tonight. She shoots Harry an annoyed look and moves around him as she waits for the Fat Lady to stop singing, nearly cringing as the Merlin-awful sounds begin to grow in volume.

"Listen, Harry, if this happens to be a stupid plan than you can exclude me."

His mouth opens defensively, "It's not a plan, Hermione."

She finally seems to loose her patience. She twirls on him aggressively and faces him with the angriest look she could possibly muster. She was just so exhausted right now that she wanted to curl up into her unflattering pajamas and just pass out until McGonagall came and forcefully pried her out of her bed. Her hands find their way almost unconsciously to her hips, and she hadn't even realized her foot had been tapping against the stone floors rather impatiently. She must look somewhat impressive, because her best friend shrinks a little into himself.

"Look -its not a plan alright, Hermione?"

She hums skeptically, and she lets out a suprised gasp when Harry grabs her hand and whirls her to face him. She gulps slightly when she's pressed tightly against his chest and his blazing emerald eyes are boring into her own, trying desperately to convey his message.

"They have the map, Hermione," he hisses.

"Wha?"

"Fred and George got the Marauder's Map back, Hermione! And it's not all they found."

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_Hope this long chapter somewhat makes up for my absence. But big chapter ahead, no?_

_R&R._

_And to those who still continue reading this, thank you very much. It truly means a lot. _


	6. Author's Note

_**Author's Note:**_

__This is a ridiculously long overdue message to my readers. And I can only apologize that it has taken me so long to finally address everyone about the updating hiatus on my story. First and foremost, I should have immediately posted that this would be on a hiatus. I had originally planned to hold off on any writing for about six months in order to deal with some standard life issues. But unfortunately, as only us authors know, it did not necessarily pan out the way I had wanted. Life did get in the way, and I can only strongly apologize.

For each of my stories, I have never had an outline. I just think of the first chapter and then be progressively spontaneous. I had actually an updated chapter for this story about 9 months ago. It was around 15,000 words and I thought maybe it would be a proper apology for the abandonment for so long. Because when the tornados tore through Oklahoma they wiped out a lot, including most of my things. I was distraught and writing was the last thing on my mind. I got everything back together and began to re-write everything from scratch.

New stories have sprouted up from me in a different fandom, but for some reason I couldn't quite get back into Harry Potter just yet. The newest chapter of I'll Worry About It Later is in progress, I promise you. It will be so ridiculously long that you won't want to read another story for the rest of the evening. You will hopefully find it just as good and investing as it was 2 years ago.

I can promise you that I'm starting to get back into Harry Potter, and my fervor has increased for writing this new chapter.

I will have this new chapter up before June hits, or you have outright permission to kick me in the nuts(my imaginary dangling ones, they're huge)

To all of those still following this story, thank you so much. Every PM, review, and favorite just inspires me to keep going.

Life can shove it for awhile, because I'm going to get back on track.

It's been real,

_**WickedFan97**_


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